


Once Upon a Dream

by YourAverageBookworm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Reincarnation, Writer!Arthur, artist!Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourAverageBookworm/pseuds/YourAverageBookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur only starts writing as a way to cope with his strangely vivid dreams. Nearly every night, he dreams he's King Arthur, only in a Camelot that has banned magic. When Morgana gets wind of his work, she pushes him to publish it, launching him headfirst into the world of publishing where he's introduced to a whole cast of people-- people that seem strangely familiar. That's how he meets Merlin, an illustrator who can portray his characters in an uncanny likeliness.</p>
<p>But not everything that comes with it is good, and as a new familiar figure emerges, Arthur finds himself struggling to hold his life together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, this is my first try at writing a Merlin fic. A warning: I did some research on publishing novels, but could only find some information. I apologize if a lot of this is inaccurate.  
> I've just had this idea for a while and wanted to see it through, so I guarantee I'll finish it. That said, thank you for even looking at this. It's also technically the first fic I'm posting on ao3, so I'm kind of really nervous...

The clash of armor and yelling echoes through the morning air, and the quick slash of his sword fills Arthur with a sort of exhilarating joy. This is where he is at his best, where titles and words fall before the reality of life and death. He may be a prince by name, but he is a fighter by skill, and one of the best.

In a series of quick but precise strokes, his three opponents fall to the back of his sword. He laughs, feeling his face stretch out into a grin.

A voice cuts through his euphoria. “Yes, well done you. Should I add another three to your tally board then?”

Without looking up, he stabs his sword into the ground and walked over to fetch a drink of water. “Don’t be stupid.” He takes a large swallow. “You know, most people would feel privileged to see such a skilled fighter at work outside of a tournament.”

“Mm hmm, well, most people don’t have to wake up at arse o’ clock in the morning every day to see said fighter practice.”

“You don’t hide your jealousy very well, _Mer_ lin. Maybe one day if you’re very lucky, some of my skill will rub off on you.”

Merlin’s response is in a cuttingly sarcastic tone. “I live for the day, my lord.”

Arthur puts down his cup and turns—

 

His eyes snap open, and he sits up only to find he’s drenched in a cold sweat. Blindly, he grabs at the desk next to him until his fingers find what he’s searching for—his laptop. He opens the screen and begins to type in a half awake daze.

This is the fifth time this week that this has happened. The dreams are getting more and more realistic, to the point where it’s like Arthur is actually in the body of King Arthur, as silly as it sounds. Apparently, his subconscious has a sense of humor.

And tonight is no different.

If nothing else, the dreams are interesting. Arthur has never had so many dreams this interconnected. The psychologist he’d seen couldn’t explain it either and couldn’t help. Writing seems to be the best way to cope with it, even if it does leave Arthur feeling completely drained.

The minutes speed by until the glow of the computer screen feels like it’s bleached his skin. His eyes are only half open. Exhausted, he shuts the lid, pushes the computer aside, and closes his eyes. He’s asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

 

There’s a great weight on his chest, as if someone is suffocating him. In a panic, Arthur blindly reaches out and swats at the air in front of him, hoping to hit whatever it is.

“Ow! No need to get violent, brother dearest.”

The weight suddenly lifts, and Arthur groggily blinks his eyes open. There’s a foggy woman shaped figure with dark hair striding about his room, examining objects at random. And there’s only one person with the key to his flat. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it must be—

“…Morgs?”

“Don’t call me that.” She peeks under a pile of clothing and makes a face. “Disgusting, Arthur. Is this really what your room is like when you don’t have company?”

Arthur’s groggy mind races to catch up with the situation. “It’s too early to deal with this.” Suddenly, a thought occurs to him, and he sits up and blinks a few times. “Wait a second. You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.” It’s only the day before Christmas Eve.

She doesn’t even so much as glance in his direction. “Yes, well, my plane came in early and I decided why not? Start the celebration early this year. And it’s a good thing too because you look absolutely terrible.”

“Thanks. I missed you too.” He squints against the light flooding his room. “What time is it?”

“Noon.”

Arthur groans and lets his head fall back against his pillow. These dreams are really doing a number on him. “Can I have ten minutes of peace to clean myself up, at least?”

“Take all the time you’d like. I’ll just be in your living room examining your books.” Arthur hears the door slam shut, and he took a few moments to revel in the peaceful silence.

A year ago, Arthur had never slept beyond nine. Then the dreams had started, and although interesting at first, they were now beginning to get really out of hand. Luckily, he has the day off. Dealing with Morgana for an extra day will be a slight hassle, but it’ll be manageable.

From outside his room, there are the unmistakable thumps of books being dropped.

Right. Time to get to work then. He rolls out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom, yawning.

 

“So what have you been up to, Morgana?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Morgana absentmindedly drums her fingers against the granite countertop of his kitchen counter before taking a sip from a glass of wine. “A little bit of writing, some interviews, some shoots. We’ve recently set up a program to help raise money to build wells in Africa.”

Morgana is the more famous one in their family. She’d originally started out as a model, but then had raised enough money to start her own charity. Their father, Uther Penn, was quite famous in his own right for building his own business company from the wreckage of a previous market crash. Morgana and Uther had never really gotten along, what with Uther being as conservative as he was and Morgana being as liberal as she was. Arthur had always had to mediate their conversations. In fact, Morgana had become a model mainly to spite Uther who had believed that any profession besides politics and business was a lost cause, and that models were basically glorified strippers.

And now it’s hard to drive ten miles without seeing a billboard with Morgana Penn in her latest line of clothing. Uther staunchly looks away every time they passed by one.

“But my life’s not that interesting,” she finishes. Arthur snorts at the obvious lie, but Morgana continues, ignoring him. “How are you doing, Arthur? Maybe if you called me more, I wouldn’t invade your flat a day more than I already do.”

It’s said in jest, but Arthur can hear the worry behind her voice. His appearance probably doesn’t paint a good picture, with the bags under his eyes from his dreams and the nervous ticks he’s beginning to develop due to his lack of sleep. He hasn’t even cleaned his flat in a couple weeks.

“I’m fine,” he lies. “Work’s just getting to me.”

 Morgana’s expression softens. That, at least, she can understand. “You have a couple days to rest and recover. Besides,” she grinned and held up the bottle of wine she’d been drinking from. “I brought a gift.”

It’s a Penn half-sibling tradition that they get completely drunk every year on Christmas Eve, the night before their dinner with Uther. They try to catch up on each other’s lives, but more often than not it turns into a half coherent slur of dialogue. They might not always have the warmest and most affectionate of relationships, but Morgana is always there with alcohol and blunt advice when he needs it and vice versa. And to be honest, Arthur doesn’t want anything more.

“Are we starting a night early, then?”

“I don’t see why not. It’ll do you good.”

“Yes, it’s just for _my_ benefit.” He eyes the bottle thoughtfully. “Only one?”

She waves her hand dismissively and takes another sip from her glass. “I’ve got another bag full, but it’s in the trunk of my car. Why don’t you be a big, strong man and grab it for me?”

Arthur snorts. Morgana has been his equal in fighting and strength ever since they were children. With age, he’d grown stronger, but only slightly. “I’ll get it, but you owe me.”

Several hours and a bottle of wine later, Arthur is beginning to feel comfortably jaded.

“Pass the bottle, Arthur. I don’t think I can finish this story without it.”

“For heaven’s sake Morgana, you’ve already _had_ an entire bottle. Strangely enough, when you said that you’d bring wine, I was hoping that I would get to drink a few drops. Silly me.”

“Oh shush. I’m saving your liver at the cost of my own. You should be grateful.” She sticks out her tongue at him in a way that does not fit with the dignified pictures Arthur has seen of her on billboards and magazine covers.

Arthur tries to think of something cutting to say back, but the alcohol is already setting in to his system, leaving him pleasantly half awake. “Just shut up and go back to your story.”

“Can’t go back to my story if I shut up.”

“ _Morgana._ ”

"Alright, alright.”

 

Another bottle later, Morgana manages to finish her story, sounding far more sober than Arthur likes considering how sloshed he himself feels.

“And it’s that woman’s fault my life has been hell the past few weeks. Honestly, who knew anyone could be that stupid? I’ve barely gotten any sleep.” And here Morgana’s tone changes in a devious way that a less drunk man would have certainly noticed. Morgana Penn was many things when she needed to be, but subtle she was not. “You look like you’ve been through hell too. What’s up?”

Unfortunately, Arthur is not that man tonight.

He waves his hand sloppily and waggles his fingers. “Y’know. _Dreams._ ”

“Dreams?”

“The nasty kind. Keep me up, can’t fall asleep. My syke- psy- psykolegist says they’re not normal, but he couldn’t get rid of ‘em either. Writing helps, but I go to sleep at two.”

“As in you write them down?”

“Type ‘em up actually.” It’s only now that alarm bells started to go off in Arthur’s muddled mind. “Why do you care so much anyway?”

Morgana shrugged. “’S interesting, is all.” She takes a sudden interest in the wine. “Hmm, there’s still half a bottle left. Someone’s being a lightweight, Arthur.”

If Arthur had thought about the comment some more, he would have realized that Morgana was egging him on. She’s famously known for her ability to hold alcohol and is probably thinking much more clearly than Arthur at the moment. But Arthur is infamously known for being bull headedly competitive, so it stands to reason that he takes up the challenge no matter what.

               

…And that’s how he wakes drooling on his rug up with a terrible hangover with no memory of what had happened after that last conversation and a terrible feeling of foreboding which only increases when he realizes Morgana isn’t in the room.

He manages to pick himself up and stumble over to the kitchen counter where she had apparently left him a few aspirins and some water (thank god). Once the spinning had slowed slightly, he let out a hoarse, “Morgs?” It’s Morgana’s least favorite nickname, and she always reacts to it somehow, whether with a punch or a derisive snort.

Strange. Maybe she’s already left. But it isn’t like his step-sister to leave without so much as a good-bye. He leans against the counter, massaging his temples and trying to remember what had happened last night. Vague memories of complaining about Uther and work come up, but that’s typical. Something else had happened…

Arthur realizes with a start that he hadn’t had a dream last night, and it may have had something to do with the fact that he was so drunk he had told Morgana all about his dreams and writing. He stands up as quickly as he could (which isn’t very fast) and makes his way over to his room. Maybe Morgana hadn’t looked at the files. Maybe she’d decided for once to stay out of his business and ask him about it at a more respectable time.

Hesitantly, he pushes open the door. The glow from his computer illuminates the room (doing nothing to help Arthur’s headache), slightly blocked only by a dark figure in front of it. Shit.

Morgana must have heard the door open, because she whirls around to squint at him before flicking on a light. He automatically shields his eyes.

“Aggh, turn that thing off. Some of us have terrible hangovers thanks to their annoying step-sisters.”

“That’s because _I_ can hold my wine, thank you very much. You should really learn not to get drunk with people who have a much greater alcohol tolerance than you, Arthur. People will take advantage of it.”

“Like you.”

“Like me.” Her smile disappears, replaced by a more serious look as she motions towards the screen. “But this is actually really good, Arthur.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in my writing abilities.”

“Will you just take the compliment? Honestly. The storyline, the characters, they feel strangely real and… and, oh, I don’t know, _right_. It’s definitely a much different version of the Arthurian legends, but I’ve never read anything that just seems to click so much.” She turns her attention to the screen for a few seconds. “I mean it. Have you ever thought about publishing this?”

“Considering you weren’t even supposed to see this, what do you think?” She makes a disgruntled “hmm”-ing noise in response. “Just drop it, Morgana, okay? I don’t really think that it’s good enough and have no desire to go through all that hassle. It’s just a few dreams.”

There was another “hmm”-ing sound, but Morgana sighs and closes the lid of his laptop. “I suppose I should make us breakfast then?”

“Erm, as kind of you as that is, I think I’ll pass.” Morgana’s cooking is famous for its taste, but not in a good way. She may be considered one of the most successful women in America, but cooking is something Morgana has never tried to turn that success towards.

“But Arthur,” Morgana has a definitively evil smile on her face. “I thought I would be nice and cook for you since you’re obviously too incapacitated to do so yourself.”

“I think I’ll just take some water, thanks.”

In the end, Morgana fries up some eggs which Arthur has one bite of before turning green. They're surprisingly good (then again, how do you mess up _eggs_?), but he’s too hungover to eat much.

The rest of the day passes in an ordinary, thankfully alcohol-free way. They go out to buy groceries and watch a movie together.

The Christmas dinner with Uther is as subtly strained and awkwardly quiet as it always is, what with Uther’s thinly veiled inquiries into Arthur’s well-being and the exchanges of glares between Morgana and Uther, fighting about who knows what. But nothing about Arthur’s dreams is mentioned.

And Arthur begins to think that maybe that will be the last he’ll hear of it from her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this will get better eventually. I think. The beginning of this story was written a bit ago, and I've been kind of on-and-off writing it ever since. I wanted to get enough written that I could actually post it on a semi-regular basis, and according to my present self I think my more recent writing is better?  
> Anyway, Gwen's been introduced! I don't know, I really like the thought of her as an editor.
> 
> ALSO: For some stupid reason, I switched tenses partway through the writing of the story. I went through some sort of mid-story tense crisis, so I write it in present tense now. I've tried to change all the past tenses to present, but I missed some. If you see any, feel free to let me know! I'm already really embarrassed I missed so many...

It’s a fairly typical day at work. Arthur is finishing up on some paperwork and anticipating a lunch with Leon when his secretary buzzes.

“Yes?”

“It’s Ms. Morgana. She’d like to talk to you.”

Almost subconsciously, Arthur’s heart begins to beat faster. Morgana almost never calls him due to her work load, so whatever this is, it must be something serious. He puts the phone to hear his ear. Did something happen to her? Is she alright? Is it Uther that was in trouble?

Morgana’s voice rings out clear and triumphant. “I found one for you, Arthur! Her name’s Gwen Tomlinson.”

 What? He coughs and shakes his head slightly. Perhaps he’s hearing things. “Sorry?”

“Gwen Tomlinson. I called her up and talked with her last week, and she said her company would love to see you.”

“Love to… She’s interested in my company?”

“What? No, you idiot. Not your work, Arthur, I’m talking about your writing.”

“My… my what!? I thought we agreed to drop that, Morgana.”

 “I agreed to no such thing. Whatever you mistakenly assumed in your drunken haze is no concern of mine.”

“Assumed?! I distinctly remember telling you to forget it. Do you even hear me speak half the time, or is it just- Morgs? Morgana, are you listening?”

What ensues is a long enough silence for Arthur to realize that he’s getting the silent treatment. Over a phone. He places the phone on his desk and pinches the bridge of his nose while he counts to ten. Morgana always was an immature child, and her obstinacy had only increased with age (as evident to anyone watching her argue over anything). There is no way Arthur is going to win this one, not as curious as he already is.

“Fine. Who’s Gwen?”

Morgana’s reply comes much too quickly and happily for Arthur’s taste. “An editor. She said she’s always had an interest in Arthurian legends and is more than happy to take a look at your writing. Plus, she sounds unbelievably sweet. You should go for it.”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware I had a choice in the matter.”

He can practically hear the eye- roll and has no doubts that, if Morgana were here at the moment, he would be getting punched lightly in the arm. “Of course you have a choice, Arthur. I’m just letting you know that you have all the resources you need should you want to.”

There is a pause on the other end. “And that I _strongly_ recommend you try. The worse that could happen is they reject you.” Or basically Morgana’s version of: do it or I’ll be moody and sullen around you the next few times we meet.

“Give me a few days to think about it.” He doesn’t want Morgana to win so easily, but Arthur can’t deny that a small part of him is slightly thrilled at the idea of potentially publishing this. A sort of nervous tension hums behind his skin, and his fingers tap out a random pattern without him even noticing.

“Fine. You have my number.” She hangs up, and Arthur goes back to work.

At least he tries to. The thought keeps niggling in the back of his mind, making it nearly impossible for him to focus, something highly unusual for him.

               

The next morning he gives in and called Morgana. “Fine. What’s her number?” He holds the phone away from his ear to avoid her answering squeal of excitement.

And so, exactly one week later, Arthur finds himself sitting in the lobby of Avalon Editing Co.

\------------------------------------

 

He taps his fingers in what might be considered nervousness in a lesser man, but for him, he assures himself, is just boredom. He can feel the folder containing the print outs of his first few chapters digging into his leg—a constant reminder (as if he didn’t already need it) of why he’s here. If he’d been less nerv—bored, Arthur might have been able to appreciate Avalon Editing. It has a very comforting atmosphere to it, making it feel more like a place you could curl up with a good book rather than a place where people’s books were judged as good or not. There is a bowl of mints sitting on the table in front of him, and the receptionist had given him a genuine smile when he’d told her his name. Surely this won’t be that bad, he tells himself. He’ll go in, meet this “Gwen”, give her his copies, and leave. Very simple. Besides, it’s all Morgana’s fault he’s here in the first place. She’d practically forced him to come after all. It wouldn’t be completely _his_ fault if Gwen didn’t like his work.

The thought makes him relax slightly. Blaming Morgana always seemed to have that effect.

Almost subconsciously, he glances down at the bowl of mints. Usually, Arthur wasn’t a big fan of sweets. It was a strange stigma he’d always had since he was young… some irrational fear that he’d become fat. This time though, even if it’s just to improve his breath, he decides he’ll make an exception. Just as he’s unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth, he hears a voice say, “Arthur? Arthur Penn?”

He briefly curses his luck before looking up with a slightly fixed smile on his face.

Gwen Tomlinson is pretty in a very sweet way- something about the way her curly brown hair falls across her face conveyed a bit of shyness, but her smile is genuinely nice. Arthur can tell she’s probably the type of person whose personality only enhances her appearance. Unfortunately, there is something slightly off about her smile, and he can’t figure out for the life of him why. It’s almost colder, and doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Did Morgana say something to her? Despite their… interesting relationship, Arthur loves Morgana and he knows the feeling is reciprocated. Something else is off.

Gwen leads him down a long hallway and into an elevator. After his first few attempts at conversation are met with short, nervous answers, he gives up. The rest of the walk is in awkward silence. When they finally reached her office, she pulls up a chair for him.

“Um, if it isn’t too much trouble, could I see your driver’s license?”

Arthur is slightly startled at the request. Why would an editor need to see his license of all things? Then again, he is more than slightly out of his depth at the moment, so he has no right to question her. He fumbles through his jacket pocket and pulls out his wallet, showing it to her.

Upon seeing his driver’s license, something in Gwen’s face softens. “Oh, so your name really is Arthur Penn?”

Arthur is confused. “What else would it be?” And then upon more careful consideration of his name in context, “Oh.”

Gwen’s face is tinged with pink. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… I mean. Well, _Arthur Penn._ And it’s a story about Arthur Pendragon that you’re writing.” She pauses for a second, as if still unsure whether or not to go on.

Now Arthur’s face feels a little warm. “I know what you mean, I guess I just never even considered it.” He goes silent for a second. “Do people actually _do_ that?”

A small smile sneaks onto her face. “Oh, your name wouldn’t even be the worst I’ve seen. People seem to have this romantic notion of publishing a novel under a fake name, like Mark Twain you know, and then suddenly revealing to the public that it’s them once they’ve become famous. Some have even tried names like ‘Will Spear.’ I’ve had to talk quite a few people out of it. I thought maybe you were the type that thought they were being clever, and I’d hate to have to let you down like that.”

Arthur can’t stop a snort from escaping. He’s worried he’s done something wrong until Gwen’s face lights up into a smile.

“It is a rather ridiculous name though, isn’t it?” She grins. “ _Arthur Penn._ I was so sure you were having me on, there.” Then her eyes widen in horror as she realizes what she had said. “Not that it in itself is a terrible name. I think it’s quite lovely, actually. Just, you know, given the circumstances, it was rather-”

“Odd?” He returns the grin. “Don’t worry about it.”

That seems to break the ice between the two of them because the rest of the meeting goes along smoothly. They chat some about his own views on his story, how attached to it he is, his inspiration for it, and anything else even slightly relevant (Most of the time, his answers end up being something along the lines of “my step-sister Morgana”. Gwen is quite amused and does a terrible job hiding it.). Overall, Gwen is a lovely person, and he can see why Morgana likes her.

The meeting ends when Gwen glances at the clock on the side of her desk and mutters, “Oh crap. I’m sorry, Arthur, but I have another meeting in about five minutes. This was nice though. I’m looking forward to reading your work. I’ll get back to you in a week.” Suddenly her eyes widen in shock. “I didn’t even realize I’ve been calling you Arthur this entire time, erm, Mr. Penn. I’m usually not this rude, just a little frazzled this morning.”

Arthur waves his hand nonchalantly. “If it helps, I didn’t even notice. And I called you Gwen anyway. It just feels… normal this way.”

Gwen smiles. “Yes, yes it does. It really was nice meeting you, Arthur.”

“I can safely say the same.” They shake hands, and Arthur is led back into the lobby by a secretary. Not bad for a first day. Granted, he’ll still probably go back to his flat and numb his brain with some TV for a bit, but he will do so in a much better mood.

He shoves any traitorous hopes down of him actually getting published. It wouldn’t do to jinx anything at this point, and he still has a long way to go even if he does. But even if he doesn’t get published, perhaps he could still talk with Gwen as friends. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, actually.” Leon leans back in his chair, his tone a tad bit smug with the realization that he knows something Arthur doesn’t.

“My father visited you. _He_ visited _you_?” Arthur nibbles on the sandwich he’d been eating before Leon had dropped the news.

“…I’m not sure if I should be insulted by the way you said that. Yes, he visited me, Arthur. Actually, it was about you.” He wisely decides to pause there until Arthur’s choking noises have resided.

“About… about me?”

“You’re awfully eloquent today, aren’t you?” It’s clear to Arthur that Leon is far too amused about this whole thing. Perhaps someone should accidentally drop off more paperwork that is strictly necessary on his desk some point in the near future. “Yes, about you. He wanted to know how you were doing—how your job was going, whether you were under much stress,” there’s a hesitant pause. “Whether or not you’re lonely.”

Even more choking follows this statement. “Whether I’m—what?!” Leon watches in amusement as his friend starts practically sputtering. “That is none of his—what I do with my time is my own—oh god. He has been on me recently about this. What did you tell him?”

The change in tone is abrupt. “In other news, I’ve also been promoted.”

“ _Leon._ ”

“Oh alright, just don’t blame me too much. I told him you were doing well, and that stress kind of comes with the job. And maybe that I thought you were a bit lonely.” He raises a hand to cut Arthur off. “Before you say anything, Uther only asked because he actually cares about you.”

Arthur groans. “But you haven’t seen my father when he’s being caring. Do you know how many blind dates I’ve had with the daughters of successful business corporations that could conveniently further our company? I love my father and I know he cares, but ever since I came out as bi he’s been acting overly cautiously. I could just use a bit of space at the moment.”

They eat their lunches in silence for a bit before Arthur sighs and claps Leon on his back. “But good job on the promotion. You always have been a lucky sod.” Leon grins back at him and opens his mouth to say something, but it’s cut off by the sudden ring of Arthur’s phone. The number reveals itself to be Gwen’s. Leon looks at him quizzically, but Arthur shakes his head. “I’ve got to take this. Be back in a sec.”

Upon opening his phone, Gwen’s voice rings out loud and clear. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I know I called on a work day, but I figured it was around the time for lunch break for most people. Is this okay?”

“Yeah, I’m eating lunch right now, actually.”

He hears the release of a breath on the other end of the line. “Good. Perfect. I was so worried I’d interrupt something. I won’t keep you in suspense much longer then. We’re deciding to take your story.”

Arthur can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face and is a little surprised by how genuinely relieved he is. He trips over his words, “Um, thanks. I mean, thank you very much. It’s an honor. Where do we go from here?”

“Could I meet you for lunch somewhere to discuss it? Lunch is usually nice, and I know this great place. Actually, if it’s possible, could you have your agent come as well? That would be a huge help, but I’m aware she’s busy.”

The happiness and fondness Arthur has been feeling at both the news and listening to Gwen stutter over herself had brought distracts him momentarily. It takes a few seconds for what she had said to sink in. “Wait a second, agent? Not to sound unprofessional, but I wasn’t aware I _had_ an agent.”

There’s silence for a few moments over the line. Finally, Gwen spoke, “You might want to talk to Morgana about that.”

Of course it’s Morgana.

She speaks again. “But I’m looking really forward to it. How does Saturday sound to you?”

They work out the details quickly, more thank-you’s are exchanged, and Gwen hurries back to her work. Arthur returns to the table and purposely avoids Leon’s curious glance with a mumble of “Just another disgruntled customer.”

               

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, but as soon as Arthur gets home, he heads straight over to the phone to dial Morgana’s number.

“Hello, you have reached the number of Morgana Pe-”

“Oh cut the crap, Morgana. I know it’s you. You have my caller ID, and it only rang twice. What’s this about you being my _literary agent_?”

He hears a sigh come from the other end and can imagine Morgana rolling her eyes. “Typical. Did you actually do any research on how to get published?”

“I think you’re forgetting whose grand idea this was in the first place.”

Another sigh. “It’s not easy getting accepted, you know. They mentioned it would be easier if you had a literary agent to represent you, as most unrepresented newcomers don’t get published. I figured I would do my dear brother a favor.”

“Morgana, how can you be a literary agent? You know nothing about books. More importantly, you know nothing about _my_ book except for the few pages you snuck in.”

The almost palpable silence unsettles Arthur, and after having to endure several seconds of it, the realization hits him.

“Oh my god. You… You went back onto my computer and sent it to yourself! I _knew_ you had a motive for that surprise visit last month.” He switches to a breathy falsetto he knows will annoy Morgana. “’Oh Arthur, I’m just _so_ worried about you!’”

“Oh piss off, Arthur. I _am_ worried about you. Why do you think I’m doing this in the first place? Yes, it may have been a slight invasion of your privacy to take the story, but Gwen accepted you, didn’t she?”

“That’s not the point. I wish you would have at least asked my permission or… I don’t know, just not have fucking _invaded my computer_.”

“I’m sorry Arthur, but I think this will be good for you. You’ve been kind of…distant lately. I just don’t want you to be lonely.”

It’s the last statement that finally causes Arthur to snap. “Yeah well, maybe I don’t want your fucking sympathy. Maybe I can handle my life by myself, thanks, and maybe I don’t need everyone interfering with everything I do.”

"Shit. Uther’s been on you recently as well, hasn’t he?”

And in a childish display of immaturity that Arthur admits probably makes it to his list of his 10 ten worst moments, he hangs up.

**\-------------------------------------------------------**

Arthur hasn’t talked to Morgana since he hung up on her three days ago. He’s meeting Gwen for lunch today, and while he feels guilty for not being able to bring along his “literary agent”, he doesn’t want to be the one that apologizes first. Unfortunately, knowing how stubborn they both are, this could take a while.

The place Gwen’s picked out for them is a small, but decently busy coffee shop which is, ironically enough, known as “The Round Table”. Arthur would almost suspect that as the reason for why Gwen chose it, but it has a nice, home-y kind of feeling to it, and Arthur’s always loved the smell of coffee and baking bread. Nobody’s yelling or stressing out, and there’s just enough people that it’s not too quiet. For a few moments, he forgets about Morgana and his father and the whole reason why he’s here. A very tall, stocky man comes over to take his order. He’s extremely well built, and Arthur would almost be intimidated by him if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s wearing a frilly, rather attention-catching pink apron. Apparently Arthur’s not as subtle as he would like, because his waiter follows his gaze and snorts.

“It’s the apron, yeah?”

Arthur panics slightly. “No.” He meets the man’s disbelieving gaze. “Alright yes, it is. But I’m sure pink can be a rather fetching color for some people.”

“Not for me, I’m afraid. This is what you get when you leave your normal apron at home and your friend has a terrible sense of humor.”

Arthur’s surprised at how soft spoken his waiter is. “Friend?”

“Gwaine.” The big man gestures back towards the counter where a long haired man with a slight beard and roguish grin is speaking with a customer. “He, Elyan, and I run this place. The name was his idea too, for the record.”

The Round Table. Gwaine. And a quick glance at the man’s name tag reveals him to be-

“Percival?”

Percival winces. “It’s actually Percy, but the names thing was Gwaine’s idea.”

From back at the counter, Gwaine lets out a yell. “Perce, stop flirting! We’ve got other customers that need serving too, y’ know!”

“Perhaps if I didn’t have to explain to people why I’m wearing this, I could move faster,” Percy yells back.

“Nonsense, it looks dashing.” Gwaine grins before going back to work.

Percy just shakes his head and turnes back to Arthur, smiling. “So what’ll it be?” Arthur orders an espresso and a sandwich, more than slightly amused at the exchange. Gwen arrives when he’s halfway through his sandwich, sinking down in the seat across from him.

“Sorry, Arthur. It’s been really, stupidly busy.” She lets out a long sigh and brushes a strand of curly hair behind an ear.

“It’s perfectly fine, I understand. Besides, you chose a nice place, even if it is a little…”

“It’s the name that gets you, isn’t it? It’s funny that you should mention that, actually, because-”

“Gwen!” Arthur is suddenly aware of the long haired man from before—Gwaine— standing behind him. Gwaine over exaggerates a gallant bow and kisses Gwen’s hand. “You’re looking as lovely as ever. It’s good to see you, Elyan’s been getting worried.”

Gwen rolls her eyes, but smiles as she withdraws her hand. “Ever the charmer Gwaine. Elyan knows I haven’t had a new writer in a while, and eating here too often is bad news for my wallet.”

Gwaine turns to face Arthur as if suddenly becoming aware of the fact that there’s someone else there. He lets out a low whistle. “Hello, you. You’re the new writer, I take it?”

“I’m writing a retelling of the Arthurian legends.”

This elicits a loud laugh from Gwaine, and he claps Arthur on the shoulder. “You’re at the right place, my friend. I don’t usually like you suit-and-tie types, but for you, I’ll make an exception.” He winks and Arthur feels his face go red.

Eventually Gwaine leaves after taking Gwen’s order, and Arthur has to ask. “So… Elyan?”

“My brother. He, Gwaine, and Percy got the idea to start this place up—both he and Percy are good with their hands, and Gwaine is decent with charming the customers and running the counter, so it all worked out.”

“I suppose I must admit I’ve never been to a café quite like this one, but it’s nice.”

Gwen smiles at him. “I’m glad you think so; Elyan will be pleased. I take all my new writers here, but I’ve been really busy lately.” She lets out another sigh and sips her coffee. “But how are you, Arthur? I take it Morgana couldn’t come?”

Something must show on his face, because he can see the exact moment when Gwen’s maternal instincts kick in. Maybe he’s just tired and rundown, but whatever the reason, Arthur, in an uncharacteristic display of trust, ends up telling her everything.

An hour and a few coffees later, they’re still discussing it.

“It’s just. Morgana and I get in fights all the time. Just never about anything really serious. I suppose I haven’t been making the effort to get to know many more people, but it’s not like I’m looking for a serious relationship or anything. I just want to live my life the way it is right now, and I don’t think that’s a crime.” He pauses for a second. “Actually, I guess you’re the first person outside of my family and Leon that I’ve really talked to in a while (but don’t tell her I said that). You’re different somehow. It seems… easier to talk to you.”

Gwen looks pensive. “Hmm, I feel the same with you.” She grinns. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work lately, there’s just so much going on. I mainly just exchange a few words with my coworkers.”

“At least you don’t have a nosy family.”

“I have to say Arthur, I don’t think you’re being entirely fair.” Gwen turns scarlet at Arthur’s shocked look, and quickly says, “I mean, not that you’re being entirely unfair. I can see where you’re coming from. I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

Gwen’s flustered rephrasing is becoming almost familiar to Arthur, and he can’t stop his sigh from sounding slightly fond. “Go on, Gwen.”

“I’m not saying you should apologize outright to Morgana, because it’s not like either of you is completely wrong. And your family definitely cares about you. Maybe you should just agree to disagree, so to speak. You’re both right, and that’s that.”

“I’ll give it a try,” he sighs. “Should we start discussing my work?”

Arthur isn’t looking up, but he can imagine Gwen’s eyes widening as she lets out a startled noise. “Oh! Right!” She pauses in thought. “Luckily we don’t have a lot we have to do.”

They negotiate a few quick things- easier ways to contact each other, approximate business schedules, and contact information for his _Literary Agent_ Morgana. Gwen gives him her basic assessment of his story- both the plot and his writing are good, but the characters need a little more polishing, along with the overall flow. Gwen hurries off, and Arthur, after a few minutes of deliberation (as well as the purchase of another sugary drink), decides to pick up his phone, sigh, and dial the number. This time it doesn’t even ring.

“Arthur.” Morgana’s voice is cool and even.

“Look, I’m not going to apologize, and I know you’re not either.”

“You’re half right.”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to ten. “Can we just concede that we both kind of fucked up?” He carefully avoids the scandalized looks that the parents in the family sitting at an opposite table are shooting him.

“Fine.” There’s a pause. “For the record, though, you apologized first-”

“I did no such-”

“-but I’m sorry. I should have asked your permission first.”

In his shock, Arthur must be silent a little too long, because Morgana continues, “Oh don’t let it go to your head, you idiot. Just make sure you actually let yourself do something that will make you happy, okay? You’re insufferable when you’re brooding.”

“I would thank you, but that was one of the most backhanded attempts at apologizing I’ve seen.”

“Obviously you haven’t had to deal with yourself very often.” Her tone is more lively now, and Arthur can see her in his mind’s eye— smiling and rolling her eyes as she speaks into the phone. He lets out a sigh. Thank god for Morgana. At least they can make up quickly and neatly. Even if their methods are a bit unconventional, it’s an unspoken rule that their relationship is built on alcohol, casual insults, and, somewhere deep underneath everything, a strange sort of affection.

“Love you too, Morgs.” He hangs up, determined not to let her have the last word and listens to the static buzz of his phone for a few seconds as he sips his coffee. He feels much calmer than he has all week and definitely more optimistic than he’s been in a while.

 

After the initial lunch meeting with Gwen, everything begins to gain speed. If Arthur had had any doubts about whether this was truly, actually happening, they’re gone in an instant.

Morgana, Gwen, and Arthur have Skype chats occasionally where they go over details, or Gwen elaborates on whatever she felt needed elaborating on. Usually, by the end of such chats, they have moved on to topics far different from that of Arthur’s writing. Morgana and Gwen get along really well—almost scarily well—and it reaches the point where they would laugh at something strange the other has said and claim it’s an inside joke. And all this when they’ve only known each other for about a month. Arthur’s pretty sure they tease him behind his back too, as they seem to find common ground in pointing out things about him. He’s logged on to Skype a few times to whispers of “And the way his brow deepens whenever he’s slightly annoyed?” “No but you should see when- Oh hello Arthur.”

Despite Morgana and Gwen’s creepy bond, it’s a nice change of pace for him from his job’s drudgery, and he knows they all looked forward to them. They’ve settled into a comfortable routine, something they can relax with.

It seems to have a more obvious sort of effect on Arthur, too, because even Leon comments that he looked strangely happier in the past month than he’s been in a while, and Uther doesn’t even mention the prospect of another blind date at either of their bi-monthly dinners.

A few weeks later, Arthur returns to _The Round Table_ to grab some coffee and work on editing.

\--------------------------------------------

               

“You’re Gwen’s new writer, yeah? The one writing the Arthurian legends story?”

Arthur looks up from his computer to see Gwaine, wearing the exact same shit-eating grin he’d had several weeks ago. He’s beginning to suspect that he’s never without it. “That’s me.”

“Ah, see? Never forget a face.” He taps his head with a smile. Gwaine pulls out his waiter pad and leans the tip of the pen against his lips. “I never did catch your name.”

“Arthur Penn.” He holds out a hand. Gwaine takes it with a loud, hearty laugh that tells Arthur he should have perhaps lied.

“Oh this is too good. Perce! El! Get your butts over here!”

The voice that responds is slightly lighter in tone than Gwaine’s or Percy’s. “In case you didn’t notice you idiot, we’ve still got a few customers that need serving. Not all of us can slack off all day flirting.”

“Just get over here—I’m sure the customers won’t mind waiting a bit for a good cause.” A few seconds later, Percy arrives, big as ever but in a plain white apron this time, along with a smaller, dark skinned man with a smile similar to Gwen’s.

“Are you Arthur, then?” He asks. “Gwen’s been telling me about you.” He pauses. “That’s actually a complete lie. She won’t shut up about you. You’re a good writer from what I hear.”

“That would most likely be Gwen being herself. I’m decent, but I have a lot of work to do.”

Percy shrugs. “Authors. You’re all like that in the beginning, but Gwen does wonders. At least you seem like a lot better than that last guy, remember him Elyan?”

Elyan lets out a laugh. “Gwen was close to knocking him out with a dictionary.”

With an exasperated sigh, Gwaine cuts in. “You’re all missing the point—we’ve got an Arthur now. All we really need is a Lancelot and a Merlin.”

Elyan and Percy groan in tandem. “Really Gwaine? Are you still on that?”

“Are you collecting names then?” Arthur can’t help but give an amused smile.

“Oh don’t you start teasing me too. It’s bad enough I have to work with these jerks every day.” Gwaine gestures towards the two of them. “No one understands my sense of humor.”

“If it’s anything like your sense of fashion or creativity,” Percy says, collecting the dirty dishes from a nearby table, “I think I’ll pass.”

“Oi! You’re just jealous, that’s all.”

Elyan raises an eyebrow and returns back behind the counter. “Nice meeting you, Arthur. Don’t let Gwaine fool you—we’re actually not all that bad.”

“Pfft. Jerks.” Gwaine not-so-subtly makes a rude gesture towards Elyan before turning his attention back to Arthur. “So what’ll it be, Princess?”

“Princess? Really?”

“Hey, I like it. I think it suits you.”

Arthur sighs and orders his meal but finds it hard to cover up a smile. There’s something about the easy atmosphere of this small café, something that makes him feel strangely at home. And with all the editing he still has to do, it appears that he’ll be seeing a lot more of the “knights” in the next few months.

From behind the counter, Percy whacks Gwaine lightly with a towel. He catches Arthur’s eye and grins. Arthur returns it.

He’s looking forward to it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who's actually following this (you're really wonderful by the way), I may not be posting for a bit because AP testing is coming up and I really need to study for that...  
> But I still stand by my promise that I'll finish this at some point. It just might take a bit. To be honest, I started out only expecting this thing to be like 15,000 words, and I currently have 17,000 or so (I haven't posted a decent amount because it's out of order and also not edited which is blegh) and I'm not even close to the climax.  
> So yup. Thank you so much for reading this!

“I understand this is still a bit of a work in progress, but I’ve never seen anything like it.” Arthur drums his fingers nervously, but Gwen’s quick to continue. “Your characterization is amazing. It almost feels like we’ve seen these characters grow, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with the back story you’ve created- adding the idea of magic being banned by Uther is genius- but you’ve never given a solid description of the characters. And you don’t seem to know where you’re going with some of this. It’s like you’re a bit lost with the story line. It’s amazing, but I’m not sure I can see the central conflict it’s building up toward. It’s just that this is so different than the actual legend, it’s hard to find its direction.”

Arthur nods. “Guinevere betrays Arthur. Everything comes to a head with Mordred and Morgana. He’s stabbed-” And yet, suddenly something seems off. That’s his plot, wasn’t it? It’s supposed to follow the legend from there, what with King Arthur being carted off to Avalon to await rebirth. But it’s almost as if that isn’t right. It feels like something was missing…

Gwen seems to sense that Arthur’s not all completely there. “You mentioned that Merlin was killed by Morgana earlier in the story, right?”

He shakes himself out of his daze. “Yes. Before the Battle of Camlaan, Morgana steals his magic and lures him away, eventually killing him, although his body is preserved in a cave of magic.” She nods thoughtfully.

“So Merlin’s out of the equation. Mordred turning on Arthur just seems too sudden. We need to be able to see _why_ he does what he does so quickly. It doesn’t make sense that he’d decide Morgana was right all along just because she appealed to him.” Her eyes lit up. “Can you flush out some of the interactions between Mordred and Morgana _before_ she went evil? Maybe focus on the relationship they had and how that eventually contributed to his turn.”

 

And so goes the editing process- heated discussions, sugary drinks, and late nights to meet deadlines. It leaves Arthur with a sort of pleasantly exhausted feeling. He’s finally doing _something_ he wants to, and, at this point, almost anything would be worth it. Gwen’s a darling and a fantastic editor to boot. Morgana’s… well, she’s Morgana. She _is_ a much better literary agent than he’d given her credit for, working behind the scenes to haggle deals with Avalon Publishing Co. and arguing for certain things to be kept. He hasn’t outright told Leon anything about it yet, but he’s posed several _hypothetical_ questions to him about possible plot twists or character designs, and Leon isn’t stupid. So, as much as he can be, Leon acts as a great supporter—a cheerleader, in a sense (and although the term makes Arthur laugh, the mental image that accompanies it isn’t as funny). He drops by _The Round Table_ quite often in his free time as well. It’s easy to order a coffee, exchange some friendly words with the knights (which is what they call themselves. Arthur is unsurprisingly not surprised.), and work. He often stays until after hours, where he helps with the clean up and they give him their thoughts on his work.

The months fly by much quicker than Arthur thought they could, until Gwen announces that she thinks Arthur’s book would be much improved with the addition of a few illustrations.

\----------------------------------

Arthur’s at work when he receives the call from Gwen. “I’m sorry, you think it needs _what_?!”

“Illustrations. I asked Morgana, and she’s on board with the idea too.”

“I thought books with illustrations were generally for, erm, younger audiences?”

He hears a little laugh at the other end of the line. “I don’t mean like full pages of pictures for each paragraph, Arthur. Just a one or two pictures per 50 pages or something similar. Your story feels almost cinematic, and I think some visuals would really add to it.”

Arthur lays the phone on his desk for a few seconds to think. Illustrations _would_ be nice. As with any myth-based story, some things are hard to mentally picture. On the other hand, he isn’t sure how he feels about an artist he barely knows attempting to portray his characters. Or, for that matter, how he feels about the extra work involved with attempting such a thing.

But Morgana has already said yes, Gwen’s behind it, and Arthur is considering it, and that means the idea is pretty much unstoppable at this point.

"Fine,” he sighs. “How do we start?”

A breath of relief gusts over the line. “You’re not going to regret this, Arthur. I’ll make sure of it. Morgana’s already got an illustrator coordinator in mind.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised.”

“Oh you know her, always ready with the next step.”

Arthur is about to respond, but a buzzing sound from his phone interrupts his thoughts. “Hang on, I’ve got another call coming in.”

“It’s all right. Talk to you later then, Arthur. This’ll really help your book, I know it.”

The soft click is cut off rather abruptly as Arthur pulls up the next call, not even pausing to see the caller ID.

“Hello Morgana.”

“Lance du Lac.”

“Cutting right to the chase, I see.”

“Oh come off of it, Arthur. You knew it was me, you knew why I was calling; I figured we could cut the crap. You _are_ done okaying the idea with Gwen, aren’t you?”

The childish part of Arthur still isn’t used to giving in to Morgana so easily, but he shoves it down. “Yes, we’ve all agreed, some of us sooner than others apparently.”

If she notices the slight bit of petulance creeping into his tone, she ignores it. “I’ll call him tomorrow, and you can discuss the details at your next Skype meeting with Gwen. Just try to keep an open mind, okay Arthur?”

“Mmm. You know me.”

“Which is exactly what worries me.” She hangs up the phone with a soft click before Arthur can say anything. Typical.

               

The Skype meeting goes better than Arthur expected. Lance du Lac himself is actually there, sharing a camera with Gwen. He’s a ridiculously attractive man, all tanned skin and dark hair, and from the looks he gives Gwen, Arthur thinks that Gwen has forgotten all about this illustrator coordinator and is instead about to congratulate her for finding an extremely handsome boyfriend until the man introduces himself.

“Hello, Arthur. I’m Lance du Lac, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I understand you’ve got a story that needs illustrating?”

“Guilty as charged.”

The man quirks a smile. “Luckily, I happen to know quite a few artists.”

With a few minutes of conversation, it’s easy to discover that Lance is a very kind person. He seems almost purposely transparent, like he’s got nothing to hide, and Arthur trusts his instincts enough to believe it. And yet… he still feels hesitant, a little out of depth and more than a little nervous. He’s seen graphic novels and similar things and some of the illustrations in those, and if the characters in his story came out wrong, he isn’t sure how he’d feel about it. Lance seems to notice something because after a quick discussion of Arthur’s story and some of what to expect, Lance turns to Gwen.

“Would you mind leaving for a second? I don’t want to seem rude, but I’d like to talk with Arthur alone.”

“Oh no, of course. It makes perfect sense, don’t worry.” Gwen stands up and gives the screen a very unsubtle wink. “I’ll just be in the kitchen. Would you like anything?”

“Perhaps just some water?”

Gwen leaves the room, and Lance leans in toward the screen. “Now that we’re alone, do you have concerns, Arthur? You seem slightly worried.”

Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. “Slightly, yes. I’m rather new to the author thing, to be honest.”

Lance’s face relaxes into a blinding grin. “I almost became an author, myself, but I decided I wanted to stay in the publishing business more.”

Curiosity seeps in. “How did that happen?”

His expression turns slightly sheepish. “A friend helped me to fake my resume a bit, to be honest. The publishing company found out and wouldn’t print my book. I went on a bit of a self-discovery quest- traveled, mainly- and decided I would much rather help others get published. My friend works in the illustration business, and everything worked out.” He leans back. “But I know how scary it can be trying to find a good illustrator.” Arthur lets out a sigh.

“Thank god. It shouldn’t matter, should it? But it does.”

Lance nods. “To be honest, a good part of the reason I took this was because my friend is interested in Arthurian legends, and I owe him a great deal. How would you feel if I offered this job to him? I can guarantee he’s a fantastic illustrator—still the best I’ve known. And he’s had a lot of experience with children’s stories, mainly fairy tales and such.”

Arthur has somehow already gained an instant like of Lance. He’s just so plainly a good person, and everything he does seems sincere. Something in his eyes and the softness of his face just seems trustable. Arthur’s seen Gwen’s reaction towards him as well, and it’s clear Gwen likes him. And if this new illustrator is a friend personally recommended by Lance, it makes Arthur feel much better.

“Of course. I’d love to meet with him.”

Gwen chooses this moment to conveniently pop back into the screen, causing Arthur to wonder how long she’d been listening in. She ignores his suspicious eyebrow arch and chatters on. “Great! That’s wonderful, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re doing this.”

She holds out a steaming mug to Lance, which he accepts with a grateful smile. “As am I. You’ll like Merlin. He’s a great artist and one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who hasn’t gotten along with him.”

Gwen nods, beaming. “I’ll find a date then, it’s settled.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, so I lied a bit about not updating for a while. I just finished taking an AP test today and decided, what the heck, I can take time to write. This one's kind of a longer one (the rest probably won't be this long) because it didn't feel right to split this up any more.  
> Thanks again for reading! :)

The campfire is bright, and it flickers softly against the leaves and branches of the forest floor. It certainly looks very warm, but Arthur is having a hard time blocking out the cold tonight.

From somewhere to the side, bushes rustle, and Arthur almost draws his sword before realizing that no bandit could ever be that loud. Moments later, a figure emerges from the trees, a large pile of branches obscuring his face.

The man’s voice is warm and teasing. “Well, that was pleasant.” He extends his arms and the branches tumble to the ground with soft thumping sounds. “You _had_ to make me fetch the branches the night after it rained, didn’t you? And of course a spoiled prat like you wouldn’t know how long it takes to scrub out mud stains.”

Arthur thinks he tries to smile, but doesn’t quite make it. The man must notice, because in a moment he’s at Arthur’s side.

“It was seeing Uther again, wasn’t it?” Arthur stubbornly refuses to meet the man’s worried gaze. “He’s wrong, you know. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done because you believe it to be right.”

But of course he wouldn’t understand. Merlin had never tried to hide the fact that he’d always been more loyal to Arthur than Uther.

“No, he’s exactly right.” Arthur lets out a sigh and leans in towards the fire. “I am destroying all that my father held sacred—I’m betraying his kingdom. I should never have-”

“Should never have what?” Merlin’s voice is angrier now, but it’s not, Arthur suspects, directed at him. “You couldn’t ask for more loyal knights. You love Gwen. Camelot is not your father’s kingdom anymore. It’s yours and it’s all the better for it.”

But it was never supposed to be about what he wanted. Above all else, Arthur loves and serves Camelot- more than Gwen, more than his knights, and the idea that he’s tearing at its foundation… It’s too much to think about, and he’s tired of Merlin making excuses for him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We need to talk about it. You can’t just block everyone out, Arthur.”

Merlin is becoming dangerous. The way he’s slowly inserted himself into Arthur’s life is worrying enough, as is the poison he unwittingly carries in his words. It spins a golden picture, framing Uther as a villain and Arthur as a new beginning. They endear Merlin to Arthur almost too much, and he feels fear bubble up in his stomach as he realizes how close they’ve become. There’s only one logical response.

“I haven’t been blocking anyone out, and look where it’s gotten me.” The anger rises in his voice. “My father always taught me that lending too many men your ears was dangerous, and I’m inclined to believe him. That is not what I need right now, Merlin. And I certainly don’t need you.”

The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. He turns just in time to see a flicker of hurt pass through Merlin’s startlingly blue eyes before his face turns regretful and sad. Merlin, whose face he’s never before seen in his dreams.

Wait… his dreams?

His mind has just enough time to register a pale face and dark hair before Arthur’s waking up, an unpleasant feeling rooted in his stomach. It’s 4 AM, and he’s having his first meeting with his illustrator first thing in the morning. With a groan, he rolls over and prays for sleep. That Merlin didn’t make any sense anyway. Who’d ever heard of a young Merlin? His lips curl into a smile.

Ridiculous.

He falls asleep and forgets all about it.

 

Of course he wakes up late. On today of all days his alarm fails to wake him, and then he has to practically cram a piece of toast into his mouth, grab his coffee, and take off running. If he’s late to meet his illustrator, there’s no way Morgana or Gwen will forgive him, and while each alone is formidable enough, their combined glares are enough to make lesser men tremble in fear. Morgana even specifically arranged for her to be here to meet with the illustrator, despite her usually hectic schedule. He glances at his watch quickly- 10 minutes, there’s still time if-

The force of the impact knocks him off his feet and spills his coffee all down both his front and the rough draft of the next few chapters he’d tucked on the inside pockets of his suit jacket. Great. So much for saving some effort and not bringing a suitcase. He can already feel the coffee getting colder and can’t stop a disgusted grimace from making its way onto his face.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry it’s just- I didn’t- I was in a hurry and-” The voice proceeds to babble on about being late on an errand for his boss. Maybe if it was another day and another moment, Arthur would just brush himself off and leave. But it really, really isn’t, and Arthur is just tired.

“Will you stop your prattling?! You’re not the only one to be late, and my meeting happens to be a little more important that some errand of yours is.” Around them, people shove past, too busy or too apathetic to spare them any attention.

The man looks terrified—he’s wide-eyed and speechless, and it only makes Arthur angrier. Maybe it’s just his bad mood talking, but he wants a _fight_ dang it. “Well, don’t just stand there like a dumbstruck moron, say something!” The man flinches, and Arthur is about to give up until he hears another voice from behind him.

“Hey now, friend. You’ve had your fun, let him go.”

Arthur looks up with one of what Morgana calls his “signature angry glares” and starts.

The other man in front of him is slim to the point of being slightly lanky and frail looking. The white of his pale skin contrasts with semi-long dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He certainly isn’t beautiful in your typical sense of the word, but there is something about him. Something… important that seems to elude Arthur. But he realizes he’s staring and quickly pulls himself together.

“Sorry, do I know you? Because I don’t believe you have any business sticking your nose into other people’s affairs.”

"I do when one of them is clearly being a self-centered ass.” The man who had bumped into Arthur takes advantage of the moment to scuttle away, but Arthur barely even registers it.

He lets out a half amused, half incredulous laugh. “Are you always like this?” Arthur makes a point of looking the man up and down. “I’m not sure a man with your physical capabilities can afford to pick fights with random strangers.”

“I’m tougher than I look.” He says it with a smile on his face, but Arthur can see a flash of anger in his eyes. Arthur feels a grin spread across his face. Finally, a fight.

But just as he’s about to respond, his phone reminder suddenly beeps. It’s 9. He jumps slightly, eyes wide with realization, and meets the equally panicked gaze of the other man. “Oh fuck.”

Before he has time to consider this, Arthur grabs starts sprinting down the block, temporarily forgetting about the confrontation in his rush.

 

It’s 10 past 9 when he makes it, gasping for breath, sweaty, and with a huge dark coffee stain down his front. Hunching over, he reaches for a table to steady himself. The first thing he sees when he looks up was the slightly amused stare of Morgana.

“Do I even want to know?”

He grimaces. “No, you really don’t.”

“Luckily for you, your illustrator appears to be late as well. Looks like you two are already hitting it off.” She takes his jacket from him. “Go get changed, and I’ll distract him if he shows.”

“Thanks, Morgs. You’re an angel.”

“No I’m not, but it’s sweet of you to lie like that.”

 

By the time Arthur comes back, he’s feeling refreshed and slightly more optimistic. Maybe this illustrator won’t be so bad. Maybe he’ll be able to paint Arthur’s characters in a way that will automatically just seem right and he won’t have to worry.

He rounds the corner and comes face to face with the dark-haired man from before, only now he’s slightly disheveled and panting heavily. Arthur can see shock, anger, and realization flitting over the man’s face in a way that must mirror what is on his own. He hears a mumbled “Shit.”

Shit indeed.

“Well,” comes Morgana’s wry voice, “I would introduce you two, but judging by the delighted looks on your faces, I would say you already know each other.”

 

One hour and angry shouting on all sides (mainly between Morgana and Arthur) later, Arthur’s slumped in a chair scowling across the room at the jerk from before. Said jerk is also currently slumped in a chair, head in his hands murmuring something that sounds suspiciously like, “Why me?”

After the initial shock had faded, Arthur had flat out refused to even speak to him, and the man had done the same. Unfortunately, however, Morgana had apparently already met him over Skype and had taken a liking to him. She sided with him in this case, called Arthur a baby (among many other things), and proceeded to lock the two of them in a room to work it out.

That was about ten minutes ago.

The silence is getting to Arthur more than anything, and he’s had enough time to mentally review what exactly had happened. If he’s being fair, he _supposes_ he’d acted like a bit of an ass, and it might be partially his fault. It was also this man’s though, and he’s still not sure where they’re going to go from here, but he should probably apologize.

“Look… I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m Arthur. I’m sorry I insulted both you and that other man, although in my defense, I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t dumped an entire cup of coffee on my drafts.” As soon as Arthur says it, he winces. He blames Morgana for his being absolute crap at apologies.

The man gives him a wry smile. “That was possibly the worst apology I’ve ever received, but I’m willing to admit I was at fault here too, so what do you say we keep this out of our work at least? Try to conduct business in a professional manner?” While his tone is brusque- much more closed off and formal than it had been earlier- his stare is strangely piercing, and it takes a few moments for Arthur to fully register what he’d said.

Finally, Arthur nods and takes out his (coffee soaked) drafts. Right to business, then. He can respect that. “I’ve put together some basic scenes as well as notes on my characters.”

“No need for the notes—Morgana sent them to me shortly after we Skyped. I drew some sample characters based off of what she gave me.” They swap the papers, and Arthur watches as the man leans back in his chair and begins to read, an intent look on his face. Arthur sighs and glances down at the sketches.

The first thing he sees is Morgan Le Fay, staring angrily up at him. And she’s… lovely. The sketch is rough, but it’s plain who it is. There’s anger in her shoulders and eyes, and her face, though beautiful, looks tired and worn. And she’s, well…

She’s almost exactly as Arthur had imagined her. In all of his dreams, Arthur never gets a clear image of the faces of his characters, but this seems right somehow. Or at least as right as anyone is going to get. He gets the strange feeling that her eyes should be a little different- or maybe it's the shape of her face?- but he ignores it.

He flips through the papers and finds a couple more characters. Lancelot. Merlin. Again, Lancelot is nearly perfect. Merlin is as well, a white-haired old man with an almost youthful twinkle in his eye—but there’s something off about him… something wrong. Arthur doesn’t know what it is. He seems to be feeling that way rather a lot now, and it bothers him. It’s like there’s an itch under his skin that he can’t quite scratch.

Nonetheless though, it’s more than he could have asked for, and much more than what he was expecting. As much as he may dislike him, this man is good.

He glances across the room and jumps a little as he meets the man’s steady gaze. Their conversation becomes hurried and brisk from there.

“So, are we settled then?”

“I’ll have to talk it over with Morgana and Gwen-”

“No need, they’ve told me they’re fine with my work.” The man shoots him a smile. “That’s it then, yeah?”

Arthur bites back a sarcastic response. Something about this man seems to bring out the worst in him. “Yes. You can keep my chapters to read through a little later if you’d like. To give you a better feel for the story.”

The man nods and walks to the door. Right as he’s about to leave, Arthur remembers something.

“Wait. I remember Lance told me, but I forgot your name.”

There’s a pause. “Merlin. Merlin Rhys.”

And the door swings shut on Arthur’s dumbstruck face.

 

Arthur is unsure of what to make of the encounter. On one hand, he doesn’t like Merlin. He makes Arthur feel uncomfortable and seems to be rather rude and impulsive. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Morgana was doing this on purpose. His whole life was beginning to feel like a bad joke- some sort of comedic drama filled with Arthurian references. On the other hand, Morgana and Gwen love Merlin. They won’t stop gushing over him and think that it’s Arthur’s fault he isn’t doing the same. And the two of them combined are hardly what could be considered bad judges of character.

He sighs and glances back at his computer screen. It doesn’t really matter anyway. All he needs is for Merlin to draw his characters, and then walk out of his life forever. He just has to survive the next few months.

At that moment, his phone rings. He doesn’t recognize the caller ID, but it’s late at night, and no one ever calls him late at night. Curious, he picks it up. “Hello?”

“ Arthur? It’s Merlin. The illustrator?”

“Believe it or not, it’s hard to forget people when they call you an ass.”

“With your charming personality, I’d have thought that was a regular occurrence for you.” There’s a small pause. “Shit. That’s not what I meant to say.”

“Then by all means, speak your mind. If this is sugar coated, I’d like to see you be blunt.”

“That’s not what I meant either.” A sigh gusts over the line. “I read through the chapters you gave me, Arthur.”

It’s irrational, but Arthur’s heart is suddenly in his throat. “And?”

“They’re… really good.” Arthur’s so shocked that he doesn’t know what to say. Merlin must take his silence as consent because he continues. “I’ve never seen a retelling of Arthurian legends like yours, and I really like it. The world and the characters all fit and I just. It’s, um, it’s good.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you.”

“Don’t get a big head. I still think you’re an ass, just one who happens to be decent at writing.” Arthur snorts. “I figured I owed it to you to tell you that at least. Personal differences won’t interfere with work, yeah? Anyway, we should probably set up a meeting so we can discuss how this will go. Does next Saturday sound okay to you?”

The rest of the conversation passes by in a blur. All Arthur can think is that Merlin didn’t have to call him or tell him any of that. It doesn’t mean he’s redeemed in Arthur’s books quite yet though.


	6. Chapter 6

From then on, he sees Merlin as little as possible. Unfortunately, this means he still sees him much more than he’d like. Whenever they do meet, it ultimately ends in an argument and either one or both of them storming away angrily. The funny thing is that it’s never the illustrations they end up arguing over. Usually one of them makes a careless comment and the next thing Arthur knows, it’s blown up into an argument. Their arguments are lighter and less sharp than most, sometimes almost resembling a strange form of banter, but still. Their strained relationship has been the target of much attention from Gwen and Morgana. In Gwen’s case, it’s mainly concern, but Morgana seems to think it’s hilarious.

“It _is_ hilarious. You two are like something out of a Harlequin novel. I would have thought you’d have moved past the pigtail pulling stage by now, Arthur. Honestly.”

But it actually isn’t that Arthur’s hiding feelings under the guise of insults and cold shoulders. Merlin might be a decent person and probably is, but Arthur hasn’t had the chance to find out. Given their first encounter, he doesn’t exactly have the desire to either, and he thinks the feeling is mutual. Merlin’s just a good illustrator and not a completely unpleasant person who he sees once a week, and that’s perfectly fine with things staying that way.

And then he receives another call from Merlin’s ID.

 

It’s Monday and the middle of a work day, so Arthur decides it must be at least somewhat important for Merlin to have been forced to call. Still, he heaves a sigh before answering. “Yes?”

There is a short period of static silence over the speakers and Arthur is about to hang up when he hears a small, tired-sounding sigh.

“Arthur, I’m terribly sorry for this, but I need to ask a favor of you.”

He blurts the question before he fully realizes it, “Couldn’t you ask Lance? Or Gwen?” Or basically anyone besides me, he doesn’t add.

There’s an awkward pause. “They’re, um. Morgana’s doing something… important. Something about a project deadline? And um, Gwen and Lance, well… I promised Lance I wouldn’t bother them for today.”

“Them? What- Oh. _Oh._ I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He can practically hear Merlin blushing on the other side of the line. Lance and Gwen have been dancing around each other every time Arthur sees them together. It’s cute in an awkward sort of way. Morgana’s been unsubtly trying to get them together, and apparently she’s succeeded.

“Yes. I’m afraid I don’t know a lot of people in this area yet.”

He’d have to be a complete jerk not to help Merlin, and despite what Merlin sometimes says, he isn’t. Arthur sighs, and resigns himself to the loss of his lunch break. “Sure. What do you need help with? Will it take long?”

“I need to pick up a good friend from the hospital. He’s had some health problems recently and hasn’t been doing too well. There was a bit of a scare today.” It could be the phone static, but Merlin does sound more tired than usual, and Arthur, against his will, finds himself feeling sorry for him.

“You should have just said that first, you idiot. Of course I’ll do it. Do you want me to come pick you up or…?”

There’s a small huff that Arthur realizes is a sigh of relief. “Don’t bother. I’ll be at your work place soon. Just give me the address.”

 

Merlin shows up fifteen minutes later, looking miserable and somehow even more unkempt than usual. His ridiculously red scarf is crumpled and strangely skewed, and there are dark circles under his eyes. If Arthur had even considered being angry with Merlin before, the sight of him looking so pitiful takes all the fight out of him.

Arthur lets out a sigh. “Leon?”

A muffled voice calls back from the other side of his office door. “Yes?”

“Something’s come up. I won’t be able to come back today. Could you cover for me?”

There’s a shuffling sound, and the door opens to reveal Leon, mouth hanging open in an exaggerated manner. “Arthur Penn leaving his office in the middle of the day? Did the apocalypse arrive early?” Arthur watches in amusement as Leon suddenly takes notice of Merlin. “Oh. Hello there.”

“Yes well, as clever as you are, I think you’ll be more than able to take care of work for an afternoon. You can update me on everything tomorrow morning. Merlin? Let’s go.”

Merlin seems as shocked as Leon, and he trails dumbly behind Arthur.

The first few minutes of the car ride are completely silent, and Arthur begins to feel uncomfortable. As much as he dislikes Merlin and their arguments (although if he’s honest, they’re really more like heated conversations), he finds their usual yelling is much more preferable to this silence. He sneaks a glance over at the man next to him.

Merlin’s sitting, elbow leaning against the bottom of the window and eyes closed. He looks… worn out. And thin. And Arthur can hardly blame him. If it was Uther or Morgana in the hospital, Arthur’s not sure he would be remembering to even eat. Against his will, Arthur’s beginning to empathize with Merlin. He shudders.

“Merlin?”

No response.

“Merlin, are you awake?” He pushes at him lightly, but his eyes stay shut. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur sees a small coffee shop. He sighs and pulls over. It wouldn’t hurt to grab something for the idiot quickly. It’ll only take a few minutes.

Five minutes later and the purchase of one Italian sandwich (for Merlin) and one coffee (for himself), he’s on the road again, and Merlin begins to stir.

“Wha’s goin-” His eyes widen comically. “Oh. Right. Shit.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Merlin. It’s nice to see you’re as pleasant as always.” Before he can think twice, Arthur pulls the bag containing the sandwich out of the glove compartment and tosses it into Merlin’s lap. “Figured you might be hungry. You certainly look half-starved.”

As Merlin stares at the sandwich, a strange look appears on face, almost like he isn’t sure how to arrange its features. His ears are turning red, and it’s highly amusing. Eventually Arthur takes pity on him. “Gone mute, have you?”

The jibe causes Merlin to visibly snap out of it. “You’re a jerk, you know that?” He pauses. “But thank you.” He munches on the sandwich cautiously and yet somehow still manages to take large bites. It somehow fits so well with everything Arthur knows about Merlin at this point, and he rolls his eyes.

“So this friend of yours in the hospital… ”

There’s a sigh from next to him, and he sees Merlin run his hands through his hair in a tired sort of gesture. “Gaius. He’s an old friend of mine, but more like a father to be honest. He helped me get my first job, and he’s been there for me since I woke up. I owe him quite a lot.”

Arthur notices the odd phrase “since I woke up”, but attributes it to Merlin’s obvious exhaustion. “Any idea what’s happened to him?”

“He isn’t the youngest man anymore, and he’s been having back problems lately. That’s probably all it is.” Merlin’s sounds uncertain though, his tone wavering.

Arthur’s never been good at comforting people. Although he’s decent with words, it’s not one of his strong points. And yet, he figures he might as well try. “My father’s been through some health problems lately as well, and I’ve discovered the best thing to do is not to worry until you know for certain what’s going on. I’m sure your friend is fine.”

Merlin gives him a small smile. “I hope so.”

They arrive at the hospital and Arthur pulls up to let Merlin out while he parks. He then decides to check up on Merlin before he leaves. After a quick inquiry at the reception desk as to the room number of a “Gauis” (unsurprisingly, it’s not a common name, and the receptionist knows exactly what room he’s in), he makes his way up. Merlin’s sitting at an elderly man’s bedside, his back facing Arthur. The man does appear to be quite old, but the steady beeping of the machines at his side seem to indicate that he’ll be fine.

Nevertheless, Arthur approaches Merlin, unsure.

“If everything’s alright then, I’m going to head back to work. If you need me to stay, I’ll stay of course, but…” He trails off. He doesn’t even know Gaius and he barely knows Merlin. Whenever Gaius wakes up, it’ll be a personal moment between the two of them, and Arthur has no desire to sit around awkwardly for another hour. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright before I left.”

“The nurse told me that he’ll be fine. It wasn’t actually a heart attack, and he’ll be able to go home tomorrow.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” And he’s surprised by how genuinely he means it. “I’ll be going then. See you later.”

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice is soft but firm.

Arthur looks up from the doorway, where he’d been about to leave. Merlin’s turned to face him. “Thank you,” he says, his tone warm. He still looks tired, but considerably less so. “I mean it. You didn’t have to do this.”

Arthur can feel his face soften. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

 

 

Arthur puts the incident out of his mind, and nothing out of the ordinary happens until Wednesday—his meeting day with Gwen and Morgana. The usual Skype chat meeting feels different somehow to Arthur. It may be his imagination, but the two of them seem slightly… awkward. It’s almost like they’re trying to talk to each other as little as possible.

“Just have that ready for review by next Friday, okay Arthur?” Gwen finishes.

Arthur nods and leans back in his chair, eyes closed and trying not to think of how much work he’s going to have to do. Even through the less-than-great quality of the computer screen, Morgana seems to notice.

“Not sleeping well?” Her voice sounds slightly static-y and tinny over his speakers, but he can still hear a note of worry.

“You’re hardly one to speak, Morgs.” And it’s true, he realizes with a shock. Morgana looks like hell. She’s pale and has bags under her eyes like she hasn’t slept for a few days. Gwen seems to have noticed it as well. Arthur becomes suddenly aware of the fact that she’s biting her lip in that way she always does whenever Arthur stays up all night to make a due date.

But Morgana just waves her hand dismissively. “Strange dreams, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.” The last statement is said firmly, but her eyes dart towards Gwen for a second, and Arthur realizes they must have fought about this. That fact is worrying enough in itself considering he’s never seen Gwen and Morgana fight about anything. “How are things with you and Merlin?”

That’s Morgana— subtle as ever. Still, she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, so Arthur decides to let it lie. For now.

“The usual. He still hasn’t turned into the Prince Charming you and Gwen make him out to be.”

Gwen cuts in. “Give it a little time. You two are just being stubborn.”

Arthur’s phone chooses this moment to start ringing. A quick glance reveals the caller to be Merlin. Great.

“I’ve got to take this, sorry. See you two next week?”

His voice must give something away because Morgana’s eyes light up. “It’s Merlin, isn’t it? Did something happen between-” He closes the computer screen before she can finish. She’ll be pissy about it for a few days, but it’s worth it.

He takes a deep breath and picks up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, Arthur? It’s Merlin.” And before an awkward silence has a chance to settle in, Merlin continues. “I just wanted to say that driving me to see Gaius was, um, very nice of you.” Merlin sounds surprisingly uncomfortable, and Arthur finds he doesn’t like it.

“I told you not to worry about it. It really wasn’t that big of a-”

A note of annoyance creeps back into Merlin’s voice. “Oh shut up and take the apology before I ruin it.” There’s a pause, and Arthur has to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing. “…Like that. Sorry. Anyway, I think I owe you an apology for how we’ve been treating each other the past few weeks. I was wrong about you being a total jerk, and I was wondering if you’d let me take you somewhere to thank you.”

Arthur’s more than slightly amused and curious. Before he can stop and think, he finds himself saying, “Sure, why not. I owe you one as well. Time and place?”

“During our usual Saturday meetings, I’ll come pick you up, so don’t worry. The place is a surprise; just wear something nice-ish.” Arthur can hear a faint sort of yelling noise in the background, and Merlin’s voice sounds far away for a second. “Oh, don’t do that!” He turns his voice back. “Sorry, gotta go. See you then though.” There’s a click followed by a long drawn out beep, and Arthur’s left with his own thoughts.

Now that he’s off the phone, he’s suddenly more than a little nervous about this. Being alone with Merlin in god knows where could spell all sorts of disaster. At the same time though, it feels like he’s standing at the edge of something large and strangely… familiar. It’s a weird pressure in his head that he’s trying to ignore, but with the start of this whole process, it’s like something’s clicked. Things have been fitting into his life that he didn’t even know he was missing before. And even Merlin—annoying, quick-to-argue Merlin—feels like he might fit in somewhere.

Strange.                                                                                                                            

He drums his fingers on his desk a couple times and turns on his computer to continue editing and distract himself for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens... ish. Things will hopefully pick up from here a bit more, and maybe I'll finally be able to stop ending chapters on ambiguous references to the past.  
> That aside, did you recognize any parallels? It was supposed to be a bit of a Poison Goblet reference, but without a life or death situation (since I'm not sure how often that happens in modern times). I just figured Gaius's life was something also incredibly important to Merlin, and Arthur did him a huge favor by driving him to the hospital.  
> Their relationship is just so hard to build...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning: I'm so nervous about this chapter.

“You should bring this illustrator of yours around to see us sometime, you know.”

Arthur groans. “Not you too, Elyan. Morgana’s been prodding me enough as it is.”

It’s past closing time at _The Round Table_ , and Gwaine and Percy are in the back tidying up and counting their earnings. Elyan’s sweeping up, and Arthur’s helping him stack chairs as he’s too tired to edit any further.

Elyan continues, ignoring Arthur’s outburst, “I mean, we’ve met the rest of the gang.”

Lance had come in earlier in the week, hand in hand with Gwen. Admittedly, it had been more of a social call than a business one—Elyan had wanted to meet his “little sister’s boyfriend”. Gwen had rolled her eyes and pointed out that it wasn’t exactly the first time she’d brought someone home.

And after a quick, assessing conversation, the knights had all taken to Lance immediately- joking, teasing, and in Gwaine’s case, flirting with him. They loved him— but then again, how could you not? Lance managed to be a living saint and somehow also extremely likeable.

 

(Incidentally, the minute after Arthur had come home from dropping Merlin off, he’d called up Gwen to congratulate her. Gwen and Lance make a sickeningly sweet couple, and both Arthur and Morgana take every opportunity possible to tell them as much. And they _are_ incredibly good together. Gwen practically glows every time Arthur sees her now, and Lance seems to look at Gwen as if she’s royalty—Queen Guinevere herself.

This fact has also made them the butt of many “Lancelot and Guinevere” jokes.)

 

Gwaine pops his head into the room, bringing Arthur back to the present.

“I agree with Elyan. You’ve been griping about this ‘Merlin’ for the last few weeks, and anyone who can tick you off this much is someone I very much want to meet.”

Arthur resists the urge to stick his tongue out at them, settling for making a face instead. “Thanks guys. Nice to know I have your support.”

“You know you have our full support, Arthur,” Elyan says, suddenly serious. “It’s just that we’ve been hearing so much about Merlin that we’d like to meet him at least. How about this Saturday? Don’t you usually meet with him then anyway?”

Merlin’s “surprise trip” suddenly comes to mind. Arthur has almost completely forgotten about it until now, and he feels his face flush as he struggles to come up with an excuse as to why this Saturday won’t work.

Gwaine lets out a low whistle. “Is the princess blushing? Now why would that be?”

“Oh shut up, Gwaine. I’ve… got to go actually. I promise I’ll bring him around to visit you all at some point, you nosy fishwives.” Arthur pauses before mumbling a quick, “Also he might not be as bad as I’ve been making him seem. Anyway, thanks for the company!” And with that, he makes a beeline for the door.

From behind him, he hears the door swing shut on the beginning of Gwaine’s angry protests.

 

 

On Saturday morning, he just gives up and chooses a pair of nice dress slacks, a collared shirt, and his best tie. For some reason, he feels the need to look himself up and down in the mirror to make sure he’s presentable (although honestly, it’s just Merlin, right?). When the doorbell rings, he nearly trips over himself trying to make it to the door and not-so-silently curses himself. Out of all the days for his coordination to be slightly off, it has to be today.

He finally makes it to the door and opens it to a shocked-looking Merlin, who’s dressed in jeans and a blue semi sleeve with a scarf—clothes that are far more casual than whatever Arthur’s dressed for.

He sees more than hears Merlin’s exasperated sigh. “I should have known. When I said ‘nice-ish’, I meant ‘no shorts’, not ‘wear a suit and tie’.”

Arthur resists the urge to sputter indignantly. “Merlin, no one who’s going anywhere respectable wears jeans.”

“Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” The other man barges straight past him, ignoring his cry of protest. “Where do you keep your clothes? You have to change—you look like you’re going to a funeral for God’s sake.”

“We _could_ be going to a funeral for all I know. Maybe it would have helped if I’d known where we were actually goi— oof!”

He’s cut off when he practically runs into Merlin, who suddenly stops and whirls around to give him a big, shit-eating smile.

“Ah, but that would ruin the surprise.” And he continues his path towards Arthur’s room.

 

It’s obvious that something has relaxed between them ever since he drove Merlin to the hospital. All of their subsequent phone calls and meetings have been much more friendly and their arguments more teasing. Arthur isn’t quite sure what’s changed. Merlin has just… opened up to him, and he’s finding himself being pulled headlong into everything that comes with it. He can’t really find it in himself to complain, but Merlin is such a whirlwind of activity and emotion—sometimes it’s hard to just keep up.

Case in point, twenty minutes (fifteen of which are spent arguing about whether or not blue actually goes with red) later, Arthur is wearing a pair of jeans, a maroon sweater, and a slightly disgruntled expression. Merlin might as well have been a tornado for the mess he made of Arthur’s room, flinging various clothes and possessions everywhere.

“You’re cleaning that up at some point, by the way,” he tells Merlin from the passenger seat of Merlin’s car after they’ve been on the road for a while. “Wherever we’re going had better be worth all of this hassle.”

“Yes yes yes, just keep quiet for another ten minutes and enjoy the ride. I can tell you were one of those kids who peeked at their presents a week before Christmas.”

Arthur was, in fact, the type of kid who peeked at their presents _five days_ before Christmas, but he decides to not correct him.

“I thought this trip was to thank me. Shouldn’t you be acting slightly more… I don’t know, thankful?”

Merlin snorts. “I’m taking you to this place to thank you; I don’t have to constantly express gratitude towards you.”

“I’m getting the feeling I might appreciate the latter more than the former.”

“Oh shut up. We’re already here anyway.” Arthur realizes, with a shock, that it’s true—more time must have passed while they talked than he’d thought, and the car screeches to a halt. Curious, Arthur looks out the window and comes face to face with the Museum of Art.

It’s a grand old building, Gothic architecture contrasting with gaudily bright signs advertising various exhibitions. It’s also a place Arthur hasn’t been to since Uther took him and Morgana as children, saying something about the culturally enriching aspects of it. And even with his little knowledge of Merlin, it makes perfect sense that Merlin would take him here. Truth be told, Arthur’s a little disappointed with himself for not guessing this in the first place.

He glances over, about to make some sort of suitably sarcastic comment, but ends up quickly looking away. Merlin’s eyes are practically shining and he’s got a bright grin on face.

“Well? What do you think?”

As much as a part of Arthur wants to complain in an immature fashion, he realizes that the way it would cause the look on Merlin’s face to vanish isn’t worth it. So he makes some sort of noncommittal answer.

“There are worse places you could have taken me. I suppose I should be thankful I’m not lying face down in an alley somewhere.”

Merlin rolls his eyes but his smile grows wider, as if he knows what Arthur isn’t saying. He grabs Arthur’s arm and yanks him forward. “Come on, there’s a lot to see and we’ve only got a day.”

 

Merlin’s like a kid in a candy shop, and it’s… strangely adorable. Arthur hasn’t had a history of being an art lover (He’s always sort of detachedly admired the skill it takes to draw or paint, but that’s where it ends), but Merlin’s incessant chatter as they move on to each new painting makes it much more interesting. He gives Arthur background and insight into each one, and it’s almost like seeing into Merlin’s mind. Eventually though, Arthur’s stomach begins to grumble.

“This one doesn’t look like much, but it’s actually really interesting-”

“As interesting as I’m sure this piece is, I didn’t eat breakfast, and while I’m sure if you could somehow live off of the essence of these paintings you would, some of us are hungry.”

Merlin gives him a mock-scandalized look. “I’d never eat paintings, you barbarian.” He breaks out into a grin. “But I see your point. There’s a café down on the first floor with bagels and things.”

He nods approvingly. “Bagels and things it is then. You can continue your nonstop narrative afterwards.”

“Erm, is it a bit much? Sorry, I like art.”

The expression on Merlin’s face is slightly bashful, and Arthur’s tone comes out much softer than he’d meant it to be. “Don’t stop. It’s actually really interesting. I mean, I don’t dislike it I suppose.”

He doesn’t glance over at Merlin as he says it, but he can hear his amused snort. “Come on, you prat. I’ll buy you a bagel.”

The bagel turns out to be pretty decent for art museum food. They find a table and look at the paintings from the cafeteria together while they eat. (They’d taken five steps out of the designated eating area, bagels in hand, and been angrily scolded by a security guard. Arthur considered it a mark against art museums that you weren’t allowed to eat as you looked, but Merlin had just rolled his eyes at him.)

After a period of peaceful bagel munching, Arthur breaks the silence. There’s something he’s been curious about. “So why art?”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“It’s just… It’s clear that you love art, and speaking as a person who never really took much of an interest in it, I’m just wondering what you see.”

At that, a dreamy look comes over Merlin’s face. “Art is the closest you can get to magic, really. It’s amazing.” He points at a picture a little to their left. “That piece is post World War I. Dadaism. Artists during the time period were so disillusioned with their lives that they tried to separate themselves from the conventions that had gotten them in the war in the first place.” He pointed directly up. “The pieces we were looking at earlier were more modern… Existentialist. They were painted to express feelings of isolation and distance from the world as well as confusion at trying to discover who they were. Pictures capture the general feeling of the artists and of the time. It’s like a diary entry—people capture who they were and display it for all to see and hopefully relate to.”

Merlin’s wrapped up in his explanation now, animatedly moving his hands, words coming out in a rush. And Arthur… Arthur is finding himself swept up with him.

“And there are all different types of art—sometimes people want to make commentary on something or express a viewpoint or capture emotions and hopes or simply just create.”

“And that’s what illustrators do?”

“Exactly. Illustrators create entire worlds. The worlds are still the author’s of course, but they’ve been given life, shaped.” He pauses for breath. “And for some reason, I’ve always liked the idea of shaping a world. You follow what’s been set, of course, but you can add your own touches. Illustrating is so entwined with story telling that it’s the only art where that’s possible. Paint a character, but make them happier than what the author may make them seem. You can even give them a better world than what they have.” He breaks off with a wistful look. “I’ve always wished life was like that, to be honest. That you could paint the people you love a better story—a better ending. That you could change their expressions or fix the funny light behind their eyes.”

“Like magic,” Arthur breathes, completely drawn up in Merlin’s words. And in a way, it makes sense. It fits with everything he knows about Merlin.

Around them, there’s a strange sort of calm in the air- people milling around, pointing and murmuring to each other in hushed whispers as they admire the paintings on the walls. But Arthur can feel warmth flooding though his chest, almost like he’s been drinking, and his breath keeps catching at the end of every exhale. He wants to laugh but he also wants to catch his breath, and it’s not clear which he needs more. The strangest thing of all is that Arthur knows that it’s Merlin—babbling on about fixing the world and being so _Merlin_ -like—that’s the cause of this.

Something must show in his face, because Merlin breaks into a smile.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I? It’s a terrible habit, I’m afraid.”

“Not at all.” But as soon as Arthur registers what he’s said, he clears his throat to cover up any potential fondness that might have come through.

“I was just… You sound almost wise when you’re talking about art. Scared me for a second.”

Merlin just shrugs. “What can I say? I recognize good art when I see it. I recognized it in your novel, didn’t I?” He pauses, his tone turning teasing. “You must have good taste as well since you hired me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Apparently, I was quite desperate.” Then all of what Merlin said catches up to him, and Arthur can feel himself go slightly warm. “My novel is really not that special. I get bits and snippets of dreams that mainly inspire everything.”

He gets an arched eyebrow in response. “Even if that’s true, the way you tell your stories… I can’t quite explain it. It’s so lovely.”

Truth be told, Arthur embellishes quite a bit when writing down the strange dreams he’s been getting. He fills in missing pieces, expands on events, develops some of the characters a little better, and so on. So for Merlin to say that his writing is actually good… he must really mean it.

When he looks up, Merlin’s smile is warm and genuine. Arthur can feel himself turn even redder, and he clears his throat a little more loudly than he means to. “So. Um. Art. We have more paintings to see, yes? We should probably go.”

Merlin’s answering laugh rings in his ears for the rest of the visit.

 

Eventually, the museum does close, and Arthur finds himself saying good-bye to Merlin on his front steps. He tries to bumble his way through an awkward thank-you, but Merlin just waves him off.

“That was fun, yeah? We should do this again. Even you, stuff-shirted and pompous as you are, have to admit you liked it.”

“I admit nothing,” Arthur says, but he can’t seem to stop smiling. The memory of Gwaine and Elyan telling him to bring Merlin over suddenly pops into his head. “Actually… I do happen to know a great little café. The serving staff is a bunch of jerks, of course, but the food’s not bad.”

Merlin arches an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “Next Saturday, then?”

“Next Saturday’s good for me.”

“Looking forward to it.” He smiles at Arthur one last time before he closes the door. And if Arthur’s heartbeat is slightly faster than it is normally, he ignores it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still really nervous, but now you probably know why.  
> This was really hard/ strange for me to write because 1. I tried to cram in so much and 2. I kind of like art a lot. I'm not sure if I did Merlin's art rant justice, but I really, really hope I did (By the way, in case you didn't know, Dadaism is a thing- look up some Dada pieces.). I just really like the idea of Arthur falling in love with Merlin's passion so I wanted to fit that in, but I'm not sure I managed to do that. Blechh.  
> Sorry, agh. I feel like it's not even as okay as the other chapters, and that's bad.


	8. Chapter 8

When Arthur opens up Skype for his usual meeting on Wednesday, he only sees Gwen.

“Where’s Morgana?” The question is out of his mouth before he can find a way to subtly rephrase it.

Gwen bites her lip. “She hasn’t been feeling very well lately. She told me to tell you that she’s sorry and she’ll be here next week.”

Arthur thinks back to their previous meeting and feels a pang of guilt for not checking up on his sister. The simple fact that Gwen knew while he had no idea makes his stomach turn.

Gwen seems to guess his thoughts. “I don’t think she wanted you to worry, Arthur.”

It still doesn’t excuse anything, but Arthur pretends to brush it off. “I’ll call her after this. You said earlier you had something important you needed to tell me?”

Her eyes light up. “Oh! Yes, actually. I know you’re already meeting with Merlin this Saturday, but would it be possible for you to come to Avalon Editing directly afterwards? It seems our story has gained some fame in our company. I was talking to my boss the other day and happened to mention I was working on your novel. She wants to meet you.”

Arthur nearly chokes on air. “She- she what?!”

Even through his coughing, Arthur can see Gwen trying to hide her laughter. “Don’t worry, she can be a little scary sometimes, but she’s really not a bad person. Just don’t get on her bad side—she absolutely hates being stood up. If she wants to meet you, though, it really can’t be a bad thing.”

“Of course I’ll meet with her, sorry. It just seems like a bigger honor than a first-time author should be getting.”

But Gwen just waves his words away. “Oh nonsense, Arthur. I’ve been telling you all along that your story’s a lot better than you seem to think it is. You should be very proud.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Thank you, Gwen.”

Arthur spends the rest of the night editing. He calls Morgana a few times, but is directed to her voicemail (and it’s her _actual_ voicemail, this time). The combination of worry and anxiety that he felt at her absence continues to build, but he resolves to wait and track her down only if she doesn’t show up to the meeting next week. Morgana’s never been fond of people fussing over her excessively, and that’s probably all this is.

Luckily, both the amount of actual work he needs to catch up on and thought of his meeting with Merlin on Saturday take his mind off of it for a while.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

When he takes Merlin to the small café, the first thing Merlin does is let out a mock whistle. “You know Arthur, if you really wanted me to replace your coffee that badly, you could have just asked. There’s no need to be subtle.”

“Oh shut up, Merlin.” A grin spreads over his face as he watches Merlin seem to notice the name for the first time.

“Does that say ‘The Round Table’? Well, now I’m just trying to decide whether this is a bad joke.”

“Of course not,” Arthur claps him on the back, enjoying this more than he’d expected to. “We need you to meet all the knights. After all, we can’t keep our _court wizard_ in the dark about everything.”

It looks like Merlin is about to reply with something undoubtedly sarcastic or biting, so Arthur unceremoniously shoves him into the shop and, as luck would have it, right into a sweets-laden Percy.

“Oh, hello, Arthur. I’m afraid Elyan’s out today.” The big man glances down. “Is this who I think it is?”

“Percy, this is Merlin, our illustrator.” And of course wherever Percy is, there’s always someone else close behind, and Arthur feels his presence more than anything.

“Did I hear something about a MERLIN?!” Gwaine comes bounding out from behind corner of the wall (and probably from behind the counter if the faint, disgruntled cries of customers are anything to go by. “Man the register, Perce, I’ve got to see this.”

Percy rolls his eyes and mouths something that looked like it could be “I don’t envy you” before disappearing around the corner.

Meanwhile Gwaine is eyeing Merlin like he’s a toy he’s always wanted. “So this is the infamous Merlin, eh? You never mentioned he was so easy on the eyes.”

Arthur honestly doesn’t know how Percy and Elyan deal with this. Luckily, Merlin seems more than capable of speaking for himself.

“Why do I get the feeling that everything that moves is easy on the eyes for you?” He says with an amused smile.

Gwaine clutches his heart dramatically. “You wound me, good sir. Can’t a man pay a humble complement?”

It’s getting slightly out of hand, so Arthur decides to cut in. “Nice to see you too, Gwaine. Strangely enough, I was hoping you could just seat us and serve us a couple drinks?”

Shaking his head, Gwaine gestures to a small table near the back. “Only fine establishments like ours offer pick up lines along with our service. And for you, sweet cheeks,” he says, turning to Merlin, “No extra fee.”

Now it’s Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes. Thankfully, Gwaine soon leaves to go harass Percy, and Merlin and Arthur are left alone. Arthur fidgets with the menu and tries not to watch Merlin examine it. Unfortunately, he’s been here so many times that he knows his order by heart, and he has nothing even remotely important to distract him. All of his senses seemed to be strangely heightened—he can hear the cars rushing by outside, smell the batch of cookies Percy seemed to be baking, and see in uncomfortable detail the way Merlin rests his head on his hands in thought.

This isn’t a comfortable silence for Arthur, but luckily Merlin doesn’t seem to take any notice.

“What are you having, since you seem to know this place so well?” Merlin’s eyes are suddenly on him.

“Italian sub with an espresso.” The fact that this response is a nearly instinct reaction tells Arthur that maybe it’s time for him to cut down on his visits to The Round Table. It’s not as if Gwaine, Elyan, or Percy need the company, anyway.

Merlin snorts. “Well that figures. Hmm… Then I guess I’ll go with a salad and a cup of Earl Grey.”

“ _Earl Grey?_ Merlin, in case it escaped your notice, we’re in a coffee shop.”

“I like tea,” he says, a touch defensively. “And just because I’m not fond of your bitter ‘manly’ drinks doesn’t mean you can pick on a classic.”

“Espresso _is_ a classic, and better yet, it’s a coffee classic. You know, the perfect beverage for when you’re at a place that specializes in coffee?” Arthur finds a strange sort of comfort in the give and take of their conversation. Dealing with an offensive, disrespectful Merlin is much easier than dealing with an admiring, excited one.

Merlin sticks his tongue out at him, but his eyes are sparkling with amusement. “Prat.”

“Your insults never change, do they?” But now he’s smiling back. They sit there, grinning at each other for a few seconds, but the moment is broken by Gwaine, who appears out of nowhere with an order pad and a smile that Arthur doesn’t like the looks of.

“And what can I get for the royal couple today?”

“A different server.”

Gwaine ignores him and scrawls something down on the pad. “So the usual for the Princess. And you, Merlin?”

Gwaine finally leaves, and Merlin pulls out his sketch pad and begins to draw. Something about the movement and sound of pencil quickly marking paper is vaguely comforting.

“So what’s your story?” Arthur asks, trying to seem as casual as possible.

Merlin looks up from where he’d been intently sketching a figure. “We’re really doing this now?”

“Why not? Can you think of a better time?” Arthur takes another sip from his coffee and puts his head on his hands, leaning in slightly.

Arthur hears a mumbled, “Prat,” but Merlin sighs and puts his sketchbook down. A quick glance reveals that he’s been sketching a half formed Guinevere.

“There’s not much to know, really. I’m an illustrator. I draw for children’s books for a living. Someday I am going to switch to primarily fiction novels, but I need to work up to it.”

“I know that about you already, but what about your childhood? Where did you grow up?”

A funny sort of smile appears on Merlin’s face. “I wasn’t kidding when I said there wasn’t much to tell. I don’t know where I grew up.”

The remark takes Arthur by surprise. “I know I’ve said you have a mental affliction Merlin, but I was kidding.”

Across from him, he hears a snort. “Well, you weren’t that far from the truth.” He goes back to his casual sketching. “About ten years ago, I woke up in a hospital bed with no idea who I was or how I’d gotten there. The nurses told me they’d found me slumped on their doorstep, but I had no ID, wallet, or known relatives.”

“Not to seem insensitive, but this really isn’t a joke? I mean, it sounds almost like a…”

“Fiction novel? I know, ironic, huh?” The smile is back, a small quirk of his mouth. “I only knew I liked drawing because the nurses brought me a pad and paper, and I ended up sketching one of them within decent likeness in five minutes. She called me a wizard with a pencil—a modern day Merlin or something similar— and it sort of stuck.”

Arthur isn’t sure how to react. “Wow. I had no idea, I’m sorry.” As the reality of what he’s just said settles in, he wants to slap himself.

He looks up and is startled to see Merlin staring at him, blue eyes intent and yet strangely mirthful. “You are quite awkward when it comes to emotions, aren’t you?” He pauses. “I manage. It’s not so bad really, just lonely sometimes. But I end up drawing so much in my spare time; I figure anyone I actually knew for long enough would grow bored around me anyway.”

Arthur almost snorts. As if anyone could grow bored around Merlin—if anything, he has the opposite problem. “I think your drawings are fascinating. I’ve never seen an artist at work, but it’s... amazing.” The words are out of his mouth before Arthur even realizes he’d said them. He can feel a slight flush spread across his face and takes another quick gulp of coffee to hide it.

Eventually, he peeks over the rim of his cup and sees that Merlin has a strange expression on his face. He notices Arthur looking and shoves his sketchpad towards him a little clumsily. “Um, here. I tried to draw Guinevere. Does it fit with your image of her?”

The Guinevere on the page has a sweet face framed by light brown, curly hair and is dressed in simple servant’s garb. She isn’t as beautiful as the legends always speak of, but there’s an honest sort of kindness about her that makes her seem very lovely. In other words, she fits with the description in his novel almost exactly. He touches the curve of her face lightly, noting the sharp, bold strokes.

“She’s perfect. I don’t know how you always seem to do it.” Arthur looks at her a little more carefully. “Though I see you’re going off of what you know?”

“What do you mean?” Merlin is suddenly by his side, gazing at the picture. Merlin’s breath ghosts over Arthur’s neck, and he begins to feel a little warm. He shifts back instinctively.

“She, um, looks kind of like Gwen. Our Gwen. Her face shape and… eyes, I think.”

"Huh, you’re right.” Merlin cocks his head. “Perhaps it’s a subconscious thing.” Arthur looks down at the pencil girl smiling shyly up at him.

“Perhaps.”

A vibrating sort of hum suddenly sounds out, causing Arthur to jerk back in surprise. He fumbles through his computer bag for his phone. The number is Morgana’s. Merlin gives him a questioning look, but he just shakes his head, heart suddenly pounding in his ears, and answers the call.

“Morgs? Are you alright?”

The voice that responds is definitely not Morgana’s. It’s hoarser and a little slower, like that of an elderly man’s. “Arthur? Arthur Penn? I’m afraid Ms. Cornwallis is in the hospital right now. Nothing too serious—she just needs to rest. Yours was the first number that came up on her phone. How soon can you make it here?”

“Right away.” Arthur is already shoving his notes and computer into his bag. “How long has she been there?” The feeling of a hand on his causes him to pause. When he looks up, Merlin just shakes his head slightly and finishes packing Arthur’s belongings for him.

“It’s only been a few minutes. Don’t worry, my boy. She’ll be fine.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As soon as he hangs up, Merlin puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be fine, Arthur. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s Gaius, and if he’s her managing physician, she’ll be in good hands.”

Arthur lets out a shaky breath. “Good. I really need to go and- God, I’m sorry. I’m a little out of sorts at the moment.”

“Maybe it’s time that I returned your favor then, yeah? I can drive you to the hospital. You’re not exactly thinking clearly right now.”

At that, Arthur looks up sharply. “Merlin, you don’t need to-”

“She’s my friend too, Arthur.”

They exchange a glance for a brief, tense second, and then Arthur relaxes and nods. Merlin gets Gwaine to pack their food for them and then the rest is a blur. Arthur vaguely remembers getting in the car and listening to Merlin babble on about everything from songs on the radio to the new exhibit that’s passing through the art museum. It’s oddly comforting, Merlin’s light tone serving to drown out some of the worse thoughts running through his mind. His chatter is incessant despite—or maybe because of— Arthur’s relative silence.

There are more events, passing in a blur, and the next thing he knows, he’s walking into Morgana’s hospital room, Merlin a warm presence behind him. He scans the room quickly, and sure enough, there’s the elderly man he’d taken Merlin to see before. Gaius’s back is turned to them, instead fussing with the sheets on a plain white bed. There’s a figure on the bed, but her head is being obscured by Gaius, and all Arthur can hear are soothing murmurs from the older man.

He walks over, almost hesitant, and says, “Morgs?”

At the sound of his voice, Morgana bolts upright, eyes wide and alert. “Arthur, I need to tell you.” She reaches for him, then grabs his hand and leans in, whispering quickly, as if she has a secret to tell. “You’re not safe,” she mutters, almost to herself.           

“Morgana, are you alright? What happened?”

Gaius’s steady voice belies his troubling words. “She’s been like this for the entire time she’s been here. She refuses to let anyone near her and keeps asking for you.”

Arthur looks down at his sister and can’t help but shudder slightly. She’s unnaturally pale, and the dark circles under her eyes make them seem wider and much more panicked than usual. Truth be told, she looks almost half insane. From behind him, he hears Merlin and Gaius whispering to each other. There’s a light touch on his shoulder, and he barely registers the door swing shut as the two of them leave the room.

He grabs a chair and sits down at Morgana’s bedside. “What is it?”

“You’re in danger, or maybe it’s someone you love, I can never tell.” She pulls back and runs a hand through her hair. “I’ve seen it, you know. In my dreams. Over and over again, but everything’s so blurry and chaotic.” She suddenly shudders. “But there’s always blood—so much blood—and a flash of golden light.”

She’s obviously delirious if she’s going on about seeing things in her dreams. Seeing her like this makes Arthur feel slightly sick. How long has this been going on? Has he been unwittingly overworking her?

In the need to do _something_ , to try and fix this somehow, he pulls her close and runs a hand through her hair. “It’s okay, Morgs. You just need some sleep, that’s all. Gaius will take care of you. Then you can go back to being a harpy.”

But Morgana pushes him away, ignoring his attempt at levity, and stares him straight in the eyes. Her gaze is eerily piercing. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I’ll stay here, don’t worry,” Arthur says, and he means it. “I’ll… take some time off and keep you company for a while. Heaven knows I have enough time off saved up. Let me just grab some food—I’ll be back soon.”

That seems to reassure Morgana somewhat, and she relaxes slightly. She nods and leans back on her pillows, closing her eyes. Arthur gusts out a sigh of relief. He opens the door to go find the nearest vending machine and almost steps on Merlin, who has apparently been sitting outside the door this entire time. Merlin’s eyes are closed, lashes dark against his cheeks, but when Arthur comes out, he opens his eyes.

Arthur’s voice comes out softer than he would have liked. “You’ve been… waiting for me?”

“Of course I have, you dolt. I still have your lunch, don’t I? I’m not going to leave you alone and without food.” Merlin holds up their takeout bag from The Round Table. “To be honest, I was hoping we could talk. There’s a park about a block away, and I happen to know that they have unusually comfortable benches.”

Arthur huffs a laugh. “Sure. But I need to be back here soon.”

 

They make it to one of the benches (which is, in fact, only slightly as comfortable as Merlin said it would be), and both suddenly realize how hungry they are. The way Arthur crams his sandwich into his mouth could probably be considered undignified, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Next to him he can hear Merlin doing the same.  

After a few minutes of food-scarfing, Merlin asks, “Are you alright, Arthur? Honestly?” It’s obvious he’s trying to cover up the concern in his voice, but he fails miserably.

It would be so easy to turn the question into another one of their teasing conversations. But a lot has happened in the past hour, and Arthur finds he can’t. He sighs. “It’s been kind of a crap day.” And then he remembers their lunch, even though it seems like days ago. “Shit, I didn’t mean… the first part of today definitely wasn’t crap. I mean… agh, I enjoyed it.” Christ, he sounds like Gwen. Maybe he’s hanging around her too much. “I just should have seen this coming.”

“There was no way you could have. It was too sudden.”

As much as Arthur really likes Merlin, it feels as if he’s creating excuses for Arthur—excuses that he doesn’t deserve to get. Anger boils up in the pit of his stomach, but it’s anger at himself, not Merlin.

“That’s not the point. Morgana and Uther are the only family I have and I can’t afford to lose either of them. I’m not going to let that happen.” He sighs. “Sorry if I’m out of it for a while, I think I’m going to stay here and just watch over Morgana for a few days.”

Merlin’s giving him an unreadable look, but if Arthur had to guess, he’d say it’s a mixture of exasperation and… fondness?

“You really are a stupidly loyal idiot, aren’t you?” He mumbles.

“What?”

Merlin clears his throat. “Nothing. Do you what feel like you need to.” But his hand, which had been lying a few inches away from Arthur, reaches over and entwines its fingers through his. Arthur starts at the sudden touch, but chooses not to comment, enjoying the warmth that spreads through his chest. They sit in the crisp air for a while, watching their breaths fog in silence.

 

Eventually, he and Merlin say their good-byes, and he makes his way back up to Morgana’s hospital room. Any calm he’d gained is suddenly displaced when he opens the door and sees a tall, blond woman leaning over Morgana’s bed.

“Excuse me?” He says, his voice coming out icy.

The woman turns around, and Arthur feels the air leave him. She’s a few years older than he is, and beautiful in a sort of knowledgeable way, but the combination of heavy eyeliner and a disdainful look on her face makes her seem a little terrifying. He knows immediately this isn’t someone you wouldn’t want to cross.

Upon seeing him, her eyes widen. It’s almost as if she recognizes him, but that’s ridiculous considering he’s never seen her before in his life. “Arthur… Penn?”

“Yes, who are you?”

“Morgause,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m sure Ms. Tomlinson— Gwen— has mentioned me? I’m the manager of Avalon Editing. I must admit I was more than slightly irritated by your failure to show up to our meeting today. I called Ms. Tomlinson, who pointed me in the direction of The Round Table, whose staff told me you were here.”

Arthur shakes her hand. “I’m sorry. With all that happened, I’m afraid I had completely forgotten about our meeting.”

“It’s no matter. I can understand family emergencies very well. It was nice finally meeting you, Arthur,” she says, but her eyes are on Morgana. “I’ll see you again soon.”

And with that, she goes, leaving Arthur alone with a sleeping Morgana. He sighs and tries to ignore the shiver that runs down his spine. Morgause is undoubtedly one of the most intimidating women he’s ever met. He’s going to have to question Gwen about her definition of “slightly scary”.

Arthur takes a seat next to Morgana’s bedside, magazine in hand, but something glints out of the corner of his eye. There’s a bracelet around Morgana’s left wrist—one that definitely had not been there earlier that day. It’s rather thick and carved intricately, and Arthur frowns. He decides to pay it no attention and ask Morgana once she wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...  
> Gah, sorry if this chapter was a bit of an plot dump. But things are set in motion now, so I'll be able to actually figure out how many chapters are left soon and get rid of that question mark. The end is in sight! (Well, kind of)  
> Again, thank you so much for reading this! I really can't thank you enough if you're following this :)


	9. Chapter 9

Two days after Morgana is admitted into the hospital, Arthur finds himself eating dinner in the cafeteria.

The past days have been thankfully uneventful. Morgana’s mainly slept the entire time, and he spends most of his day in her room, editing or reading nearby magazines. (So far, it’s been one _Cosmos_ and several _Family_ _Fun_ s. Arthur now knows much more than he needed to about fall recipes and quick beauty tips.) If Morgana happens to wake up, they have a quick conversation before she falls asleep again. Their talks usually just consist of her rolling her eyes at him and telling him to go home with a, “I’m fine, Arthur. Honestly, you can be such a worry wart sometimes,” followed by her rubbing the strange bracelet around her wrist, almost unthinkingly. She’d told him that Morgause had given it to her as a sort of good luck charm to help her sleep. Admittedly, Arthur found that more than kind of strange, but he’d decided not to comment on it because Morgana seemed to like Morgause for some unknown reason.

During one of their brief talks, she’d even said, “Arthur, does Morgause seem kind of… familiar to you?” But he’d stared at her in confusion, and she’d just sighed and told him to forget it. And forget it he almost did. Every time they talked, the only thing Arthur could think was _she must have been exhausted._

Arthur chews on a piece of chicken thoughtfully and taps the end of his pencil against the table in a steady, repetitive pattern. He glances down at Gwen’s notes from their previous meeting and debates whether or not he should tell her he needs to take some time off. Gwen knows what condition Morgana’s in, and it just would be nice to have some time to himself. Between his novel and catching up on work, it’s been hectic. The fact that he didn’t notice something was wrong with Morgana only proves that. Maybe he needs a break to recollect himself so he can focus on everything a little better.

His thoughts are interrupted when his plate nearly bounces off the table. When he looks up, he almost knocks it off himself.

Uther sits down across from him, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Short gray hair frames a hard face, and his mouth is a straight line. If you didn’t know him well, he would look the same as he always does, but Arthur can see that there are darker circles around his eyes.

He straightens instinctively. “Hello father. Have you visited Morgana yet?”

The older man clears his throat. “I just came back from visiting her and am pleased to see she’s doing well. Her physician seems to know what he’s doing.” He’s silent for an uneasy moment, and Arthur almost interjects, but he continues. “Actually, Arthur, I was going to ask about you.”

The sinking feeling Arthur gets is only to be expected. “I’m fine, father, honestly.”

But as well as Arthur knows Uther’s face, Uther knows Arthur’s. He looks at Arthur skeptically, and Arthur’s suddenly too aware of the new wrinkles around his eyes and the fact that he hasn’t gotten very much sleep in the last few weeks trying to meet deadlines. Uther’s gaze flickers down to the piece of paper with Gwen’s critiques written on it, and his brow furrows.

“What is that?”

“This? Oh nothing. Just a side project I’m working on.” Arthur inexplicably feels eight again, young and feeling guilty for hiding things from his father. “It’s nothing too big, really.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Uther’s interest is piqued.

"Let me see it.” His tone makes it clear that this not a request.

“It’s really not—”

“ _Let me see it.”_

Arthur hands it over, more than slightly reluctantly, and waits as Uther reads over it. There are probably at least a hundred different questions Uther could ask, and Arthur has no idea what to say. To be honest, he wasn’t ever planning on Uther finding out until he had published the novel. He can’t imagine a scenario where telling his father would turn out exceedingly well, so he’s just sort of… avoided it. Uther has never been supportive of Arthur’s more “frivolous” hobbies, even when he was much younger. And now he’s left fidgeting in his spot nervously as he awaits his father’s response.

After what seems like an eternity, Uther sighs and puts the paper back down. “Is this what I think it is, Arthur?”

He nods. “I decided to publish a book.” It would be more accurate to say that Morgana strung him along into publishing a book, but instead he says, “Morgana encouraged me to do this and has been working with me and the Avalon Editing Company as well.”

Uther suddenly pulls back like he’s been hit. “Morgana’s been involved in this? How long has this been going on without my notice?”

Arthur thinks about this for roughly five seconds before mentally sighing. “About a year.”

He swears Uther almost sputters. “A year?! And she’s still been handling her normal duties? Is this why Morgana’s as exhausted as she is?”

And there it is. He winces. Uther’s always had an uncanny ability to hit the spots that hurt the most. It’s almost as if he’s known where to dig that’ll make Arthur feel the worst, even though Arthur knows he doesn’t do it entirely intentionally.

“I’m not sure.”

Across the table, Uther sighs and drops Gwen’s comments, a look of exhaustion and defeat on his face. Somehow that’s worse than if he’d been angry.

“Arthur, what exactly are you planning to do with this?”

“I don’t—”

“You have a job,” he says, cutting off Arthur’s weak attempts at an explanation. “And it’s not writing. I don’t know what you’ve been… _playing_ at for the past year. I had no idea. I can’t even…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Don’t waste these people’s time anymore than you already have. Morgana’s already in the hospital because of you, and I think it’s time this came to an end.”

Arthur’s mind is a mixture of guilt and panic. His thoughts flash to Gwen, the knights, and Merlin. “But father, I won’t just aband—”

“ _Arthur_.” Uther’s face and tone have hardened. “I’ve tried to be patient with you. I don’t know what you’ve been deluding yourself into thinking, but you’re not a writer. The longer it takes for you to realize that, the worse it will be for everyone.” He stands up from the table. “This is the last I want to hear about it, do you understand?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but no words come out. There’s nothing he can say. He closes it. “Yes father.”

“Good.”

And with that, Uther leaves.

               

Arthur sits at Morgana’s bedside, listening to her even breathing. It would usually be enough to calm him, but his mind keeps straying back to his conversation with Uther, and he finds he’s unsure of what to think. In many ways, Uther is absolutely right. He’s not a writer—it was something he’d dabbled in when he was younger, but it had been quickly forgotten when Uther had pushed him towards business. Writing wasn’t a job, his father had said, it was a hobby, and a useless one at that. It’s only because of Arthur’s dreams that his inclination to write has resurfaced.

With that thought, a feeling of guilt prickles in the back of his mind. He trusts Gwen absolutely, of course, but what if he _has_ been wasting her time? And Morgana’s and the Knights’ and Merlin’s as well? It’s not a fun thing to think. He glances down at Gwen’s comments again, finding a random note.

_Good job on the characterization in this chapter! You can really tell that King Arthur’s grown. The plot seems a little disjointed here though. Maybe if you focused more on how much this means to Guinevere? Fix it, and we’ll talk Wednesday._

The feeling only increases. What _is_ he even doing? He’s had doubts about his story from the very beginning, and with every section he writes and edits, they only increase. Even imagining himself resuming his edits makes him feel uneasy now after he’s had that conversation with Uther. He doesn’t want to think about his story, doesn’t want to even touch it for a while because it’ll just be a reminder of his awkward dialogue and poor plot and terrible flow—of how bad of a writer he is. It’ll be hard, to break things off now, but it’ll be for the best. Gwen will be upset for a bit, but it’ll save them all time and grief in the end. Still, he sighs.

Beside him, Morgana shifts a little, a frown on her face, and mumbles something angry sounding, but Gaius chooses this moment to enter the room. “Ah, Arthur. Back again, I see. You’ll be pleased to know that Ms. Cornwallis is doing very well—she’ll be back to normal in a few days.” Then Gaius’s brow furrows with some unreadable emotion. “In fact, it’s almost as if she experienced a sudden turning point from the day she arrived here.”

But Arthur isn’t really paying attention. He makes the decision in a few seconds—he needs to go home, to decide where to go from here, how he’s going to break the news to Gwen and the others.

“She’ll be perfectly fine without me then.” In a moment of sudden compassion, he leans down and kisses her on the forehead. She wrinkles her nose and grumbles something incoherent in her sleep, but she otherwise doesn’t wake. He turns to Gaius. “Could you let her know that I went back home when she wakes up? Tell her to visit me as soon as she’s out.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, and I mean for everything, Gaius.” He clasps the elderly man’s hands before turning towards Morgana. “Bye Morgs, I’ll see you soon.”

There’s another grumble in response, so he closes the door softly behind him before leaving the hospital, careful not to wake her.

This will be for the best, he tells himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uther had to be a jerk at least once. It's like a Merlin fic requirement :P  
> That aside, sorry if it took me kind of long to update. I've actually been doing Camp NaNoWriMo, but I think I'm going to take a break from it for a while to work on this. This decision was made (and this chapter was published today) mostly because of a really nice comments by people on this and a friend who started reading this, so thank you so much to both of you! I just want to finish this as soon as possible... I feel like I'm only getting more and more unsure about plot and other things the further I get, and school's going to start again.  
> In more positive things, I've planned it out, and I'm 99% sure this will be 14 chapters once it's finished. There's definitely an end in sight!  
> And as always, thank you for reading this :)


	10. Chapter 10

It’s not until the next morning that he calls Gwen to tell her, partially because he’s putting it off. The phone only rings once before she answers.

“Hey Arthur,” she says, voice bright. “How’s Morgana doing?”

The question takes him by surprise. “Um, a lot better. Gaius says she’ll be out in a few days.”

“That’s great! Truth be told, she called me to tell me she was fine and not to worry, but you know how she is. So does that mean you’re home again as well? You should rest too, you know.” She’s practically singing with happiness. In the background, he can hear clanking pots and pans, and a deeper voice mumbles something unintelligible. There’s a small giggle, and Arthur feels his face go red with realization.

“…Erm, is Lance with you right now?” The clanking stops for a second.

“Oh! Yes, he just came by to, um, make me breakfast.” The voice in the back says something again, and there’s another giggle.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You’re a grown woman, Gwen. What you do with your time is your business.” He pauses. “Or I guess I should say, _who_ you do with your time.”

“Ha ha, Arthur. Very funny. You can’t see it, but I’m making a face at you right now.”

He grins, forgetting for a moment why he called. “Congrats though. I’m glad you two are doing so well.”

“Thanks.” He can almost hear her smile from the other end of the line, and a feeling of guilt sets in as he remembers the news he has to break. This may be the last conversation like this he ever has with Gwen. He wants to stay friends, of course, but he doesn’t know how upset she’ll be with him. He’s never seen Gwen angry (indignant, maybe), and he’s not sure he wants to. But he doesn’t have a choice.

“Actually, Gwen, I was calling to tell you that I’ve been thinking a lot—with all that time at the hospital…” He rushes the next part. “…And I’m not sure I should continue writing the book.”

To his surprise, she laughs. “Oh, Arthur. Almost everyone I’ve ever edited for has had those doubts. You’re a good writer, you really are, and I know your story’s going to be fantastic. Just… stick it through. I promise you’ll be glad you did this.”

“Gwen,” he says, knowing his voice is cracking. “I really don’t think I can or should. I want to stop. I’m so sorry.”

The line is silent for a few seconds. Finally, Gwen says, “You’re just a little stressed right now, and that’s understandable. Why don’t you take a week or two off before you decide? Don’t write, don’t edit, don’t even look at it. If you still feel this way after that, we’ll talk from there, okay?” Her tone is so sweet and worried that Arthur doesn’t have the heart to just downright say no. Gwen is simply too nice. Most editors would scream at him, and at the very least be angry. He sighs.

“Sure.”

“Good. I’ve got to go, but tell Morgana I said hi when you see her again.”

“Will do. Bye, Gwen.”

“Bye, Arthur. Get some sleep; it’s been a hectic week.”

               

He makes it five days relatively event-free. He goes to work, stays after for a few hours like he used to, and comes back to a nice frozen dinner. Bed time becomes an actual thing, and he manages to go to sleep by 12 most nights. The dreams… haven’t been bothering him lately, for what seems like the first time in forever. Sometimes he sees hazy images of a strange blonde woman, but he can’t remember much when he wakes. How many blonde women _are_ there in Arthurian legends? Elaine, maybe? Or Isolde or Dame Ragnelle? He gets the feeling that this woman is older than any of them, but he pushes it aside. No thinking about the novel, he tells himself.

And it’s… nice. Yes, of course it is. He has time now, and he’s been actually able to relax. Even Leon notices a change, although he doesn’t quite react in the way Arthur was expecting. They’re having an argument over which football team has the best lead player, when suddenly Leon just startles, mid-way through a bite of sandwich.

“Wait, don’t you have a phone call with a mysterious woman or something ‘urgent’ you need to attend to? You haven’t left the table at all, and we’re more than half way through lunch.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “’A mysterious woman’. Really, Leon?”

“Hey,” he shrugs. “You’ve never told me what exactly it was you were doing. You could be murdering people for all I know.”

“Only the people that displease me,” Arthur replies with a smile, but it quickly fades. “No, I’ve, erm, decided to stop doing all of that. It wasn’t a very good idea in the first place anyway.”

Leon’s quite for a few seconds, and Arthur mentally reviews what he just said, trying to figure out what he did wrong. Eventually, Leon says, “I’m your friend, Arthur. You don’t have to ever tell me what it was you were doing, but I do know this: you seemed a lot happier than I’ve seen in a while. Granted, you’ve spent fewer hours at work, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Arthur realizes he’s frowning. “Can we talk about something else?”

He gets a strange look from Leon for it, but they fall back into a more comfortable conversation.

\---------------------------------- 

It’s Saturday afternoon when the doorbell rings, and Arthur swings open the door only to come face to face with Merlin. There’s a blank look on his face, and he seems more worn out than Arthur’s seen him in a while.

“Arthur, Gwen told me.”

“Hello to you too Merlin.” Arthur sighs and lets him in. He was hoping he’d be the one to tell Merlin because now he’s not sure what to expect. “I was going to tell you eventually.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “And when was that going to be?”

“Once I’d decided for sure.”

“So you haven’t yet?”

Arthur must be silent for too long, because Merlin’s expression becomes unreadable.

“Will you at least tell me why you’re doing this? I don’t understand. Is it… Was it me? Did I make you feel uncomfortable?” The last part is said so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear it, and the question makes him feel suddenly nauseous.

“God, Merlin, no. It was just—I had a chance to think it over, and I changed my mind.”

Merlin turns away and runs a hand through his hair. “People don’t just suddenly change their mind when they’re so far into things. Especially not you. I’ve worked with you, Arthur. I know how much you love your idea, your characters. It’s the only reason I can draw them so well. What actually happened?”

He sighs. “I saw my father, while I was watching over Morgana at the hospital. We talked, and-”

At those words, something changes in Merlin’s demeanor. His face hardens, and he doesn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. It’s sudden and worrying, and Arthur wonders what he said wrong. He’s never seen Merlin act like this, Merlin who’s always one extreme or the other—never this cold, neutral figure.

"You talked with Uther, and he convinced you to stop writing. It was that easy to convince you. Tell me, did any of it actually matter to you or was it just something you felt like playing at? No, don’t answer that.”

The sudden change in tone catches Arthur off guard. “Wait, is this about the illustrations you’ve done? You’ll still be compensated for those.”

Merlin makes a frustrated noise. “This isn’t about the illustrations at all. Why would you let your father force you into this, Arthur? ”

He throws his arms up, exasperated. “I knew you’d be angry, but I don’t think this much is warranted. What do you want from me, Merlin?”

"I want you to fight! I want you to do _something_ and not just lie down and take your father’s criticism.” He finally looks up, and Arthur’s shocked to see that there are tears in his eyes.

"Are you… crying?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you prat.” Merlin turns away with a shaky sigh and starts talking again, almost to himself this time. “You like writing. I know you do, and you’re a great writer but god, you’re such an _idiot_ sometimes. Your father doesn’t know what’s right for you, Arthur. You do. Why can’t you see that? Why haven’t you ever been able to see that?”

"Ever been able to… Merlin, you’ve never even met my father. How would you know—” When he looks at Merlin again, for a split second, he sees someone else—a somehow younger version of him, wearing a ridiculous looking red scarf, but his angry, red-rimmed eyes are the same.

And then he blinks and it’s gone, and it’s just his Merlin staring back at him with a look of confusion.

“I… I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Because Arthur’s angry now as well. “You don’t know Uther, Merlin. You don’t know all that he’s done for me and Morgana. You might not know anything about this, but he’s my father, and I certainly trust him much more than some amateur illustrator that I barely know.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. They’re hurtful, born of anger and the spur of the moment and completely false, but it’s too late. He briefly considers trying to take them back, but he can’t, so he just stands there waiting for Merlin’s reaction.

Merlin stares back at him, mouth partially open in shock. For a brief moment, hurt flashes across his face, but then it’s gone, and in its place there’s a closed off sort of detachment. It’s the same blank look Merlin had worn when they’d first met, and that realization hurts more than anything else.

“Fine. What you do with your own life is your choice.” Merlin starts towards the door. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

He looks back right as he’s about to close the door, but stares stubbornly at the floor. His voice is soft, and Arthur has to strain to hear him.

“I _liked_ you, you ass.”

Then Merlin shuts the door, leaving Arthur alone in the dim light of his apartment.

 

It takes Arthur a while to fall asleep, unsurprisingly. Part of him wants to go to Merlin’s apartment right at this moment and apologize or do whatever it takes to erase his last words to Merlin as much as possible. It’s not just guilt he’s feeling— it’s desperation and anxiety and most of all, fear that he’s screwed up something terribly important. When did Merlin’s opinions even start to mean so much to him? It’s simultaneously annoying and kind of terrifying, to think he’s grown so attached to him so quickly.

But a large part of him is still completely his father’s son, and wants to defend the truth in Uther’s words. The same part is also prouder than is probably good for it and doesn’t want to apologize for ideas he’s stubbornly holding onto. It’s this part that stops him from getting into his car at 2:30 in the morning and driving straight to Merlin.

This is the problem: he recognizes the truth in Merlin’s words, but can still taste bitterness of their argument. It’s childish of him, but he wants to be right—to have won— when he knows he’s not.

He’s not sure when, but he drifts off eventually.

Waking up is a slow process, and as Arthur comes to, he realizes it’s largely due to the loud, continuous thumps on his door. Though still groggy, this recognition sobers him up enough to at least check the time. 4:27. The words “Nothing good ever happens after four” pop into his head, so he jumps out of bed and cautiously approaches the door.

The knocking continues. Right before he can decide whether or not to open it (and is heavily regretting not installing a peephole), he hears a muffled, “Open up Arthur, you lazy ass! I know you’re awake.” The voice is familiar despite the fact that he hasn’t heard it quite that animated in a while.

“Morgana! How did you get here?” He throws the door open and envelops his sister in a hug before he can think twice. Then in the next second, he pushes her back at arm’s length and gets a good look at her. “You look terrible. And are you- are you still wearing your hospital gown?”

She makes a face at him, but it only serves to highlight the shadows under her eyes. “Nice to see you too, Arthur. Just let me in.” He opens the door wider and grabs her suitcase for her. They both stumble into the room, and Morgana immediately crashes on his couch.

“I left the hospital and caught a cab. I couldn’t stay any longer,” she says by way of explanation, eyes closed.

“How did you even convince the cab driver to take you away?” The question brings a small smile to Morgana’s face.

“Paid him a little extra and told him I’d been released earlier but slept through it and I just wanted to get out as fast as possible.”

Arthur snorts. “You bluffed him. Only you, Morgana. But you can’t stay here. I need to take you back—you need their help. I thought Gaius said it was getting better.”

At that, Morgana looks up at him. “I can’t stay there Arthur. It was better, for a while at least, but then the dreams came back. Just much clearer this time.” Her brow furrows. “I kept seeing… Morgause of all people. And you, only dressed in chainmail.” She looks away, troubled. “And it’s getting harder to remember what’s real and what’s not.”

Arthur sits down next to her. “Start from the beginning.”

 

Apparently, the day Morgana had originally been let into the hospital, the dreams that had been plaguing her sleep had just… vanished. She’d slept like a rock for the next few days while Arthur was there, but as the sleep went on, she began to get new dreams—dreams of Arthur’s stories, strangely enough. The funny thing was Morgause was in every single one, telling her that Arthur had betrayed her a long time ago.

“She kept telling me that I could finally take my revenge. And for a moment,” she shudders, “I was seeing through someone else’s eyes, lying on a forest floor. There was so much pain and shock, but mostly hatred. I thought of you and I wanted to…” She trails off, a distant look in her eyes, and then looks down at her wrist. Arthur realizes he’s gripping her hand tightly. “Hey,” she says. “If I’ve put up with you this long, I’m not going to let anything happen to you now.” But the teasing tone in her voice is forced.

“I took off the bracelet Morgause had given me. Those dreams stopped, but the other ones started again, and my sleep’s been irregular. It’s worth it though, honestly. I mean, I know I’m not at my sanest right now, but I think it’s been Morgause’s bracelet all along. I don’t want to say that it’s magic, but… Maybe some sort of eastern herbal remedy?”

Arthur fidgets nervously for a second, but he’s made up his mind. The news about her dreams doesn’t scare him as much as it should for some reason. It’s almost like part of him recognizes and accepts it. And it’s not that he’s scared for his own life—he knows Morgana wouldn’t ever hurt him. He’s just worried that he’s out of his depth with whatever she’s going through right now, and that he’s not the most qualified person to help. But it’s Morgana.

“You’re more than welcome to stay with me, if you want. You need someone to look after you, and I have the time and space.”       

That earns him a snort. “Bit of an understatement. Gwen told me, you know. We’re going to talk about it at some point, but we both need to rest right now.” She pauses, and then her voice becomes a lot smaller. “Arthur, just for tonight, do you mind if I sleep in your bed? I just… don’t want to be alone tonight.”

The last time they slept in the same bed was when he was seven, and Morgana was trying to get him to stop crying after a bad lecture from Uther. For her to be asking him this… it’s a sign of vulnerability, which in Morgana’s eyes is weakness. She just looks so tired, and it reminds him that with all that they’ve both been through, he owes Morgana more than anyone. She’s his sister, even if the relation isn’t by blood.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak. Without another word, he grabs Morgana’s hand and leads her to his bedroom. When he tries to tuck her in, she just rolls her eyes and bats away his hand. She ends up sitting in front of him and lying against his chest, her head tucked under his chin. They sit there in comfortable silence for a while.

Just when he thinks she’s fallen asleep, she suddenly speaks up. “Arthur?” She says, voice soft. “What you decide to do with your book is your own business, but it was nice, seeing you happy. It wouldn’t kill you to be selfish for once.”

But he doesn’t respond, and she sighs, mumbles something that sounds like “stubborn ass”, and is asleep within a few minutes.

Arthur runs his hand through Morgana’s hair absentmindedly. First Gwen and Leon, then Merlin, and now Morgana. These are people that he trusts unequivocally, and he knows that they’re right, but he trusts Uther as well. Maybe it’s an ingrained habit, but he’s always defended Uther’s opinions because Uther, well, is just… Uther. Arthur can still remember being young enough that his father still read him bedtime stories, usually with some sort of pertinent moral. He remembers looking up at him, listening to the deep, confident tone of his voice, and thinking that _this_ was what wisdom was.

But since then he’s learned there are things that Uther doesn’t know as well, and more and more lately, one of those things has been Arthur.

There will be a lot to do come morning, but for now, Arthur sits there in the dark, listening to the steady pattern of Morgana’s breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was crazy to write because there's so many emotions it it (Also erghh I can't write arguments to save my life. It's times like this that I'm in awe of Joss Whedon/ the writers of Angel because some of the arguments between Buffy and Angel...)  
> But yup. Hope you like it? I've reached that point where I'm no longer able to tell whether what I'm writing is even decent or not. Arthur's being kind of stupid, but that'll change soon.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur spends the remainder of his two break weeks alternating between working and spending time with Morgana. He hasn’t realize how much he’s missed her over the last few years, maybe because he hasn’t had the chance to spend a lot of time with her. They do typical sibling things—you know, watching a movie, trying to cook dinner together, getting into shouting matches. It’s just a testament to how tired Morgana is that she doesn’t start to go even slightly stir crazy from being inside most of the time.

On one of the last days he comes back from work to find her sitting at his dining table waving a grocery bag full of wine.

“I stopped by the store today because we’re out of milk and picked you up a present. Consider it a thank-you for letting me stay at your place.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “So that’s all mine, is it? How generous of you.”

“I take offense to that. I could have picked your wallet for the money but I didn’t, so yes, I am being very generous. To thank me, I’m sure a gentleman like you is more than willing to share.”

It’s their Christmas Eve routine all over again, only it’s not Christmas Eve and so many things have happened since the last time they did this. Writing this book feels like it’s taken up a lifetime, a lifetime Arthur can’t honestly say that he regrets at all.

Beside him, Morgana grab a bottle and uncorks it. The briefly discuss anyone they’ve forgotten to inform about Morgana’s condition. She’s already called Gaius to let him know she’s with Arthur. He was reluctant in his approval, but he decided not to say anything, and Arthur is eternally grateful. When he asks her about her work, she just waves him off.

“I told the organization I’m using up my sick days. I’ve got so many as it is; I rarely take days off.” Morgana laughs suddenly. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I’m more like Uther in some ways than I thought.”

Eventually, the subject turns to Merlin, and all the things that have happened between the two of them in the past year. When Arthur tells her about his fight with him, Morgana just says, “Oh Arthur, you poor, stupid man,” before hugging him tightly.

 

(He’s already called Merlin five times since he stormed out of Arthur’s apartment, and four out of five times, he was given the answering machine. The fifth time, someone actually picked up the phone, and Arthur’s heart beat faster for a split second before the person – definitely Merlin— hung up on him before he had the chance to so much as breathe over the line.

Arthur had gotten the message. It was going to take more than that to get Merlin to speak to him again.)

 

“I don’t know what to do, Morgs,” he says once she lets go.

“Well, admitting you were being an idiot is definitely the first step.”

Maybe it’s the pleasant buzz from the alcohol setting in talking, but he can’t help but snort at that. “Thanks. Everything’s so much clearer already.”

“Damn straight it is.” She grins at him, but it disappears quickly. “Merlin’s an overly loyal man, Arthur. If he sticks up for someone, he really means it. You’re going to need something more than just an apology to make things right.”

“I know.” He takes another swig of the wine and grimaces. “Something tells me I’m not quite drunk enough yet…”

Morgana raises an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“You know it is.”

And the rest of the night passes in a blur.

 

Gwen is happy that Arthur’s back, and almost a little too unsurprised.

“I haven’t lost a writer yet,” she explains, “And I knew you wouldn’t be my first.”

“Thanks Gwen,” he says, and he’s surprised by how much he means it. “You’re an angel for sticking with me.”

She laughs, and Arthur can tell it’s the awkward, blushing kind of laugh she frequently does. “I knew you’d stay with it Arthur; I can tell you really love your story. Anyway, it’s a good thing too, because I’d estimate you only have a few months of work left.”

Arthur can’t help but laugh. “Oh, is that all?”

“Oh shut up, Arthur, you know that relatively speaking it’s not much at all.”

It isn’t, actually. With all that he’s been through in the past few months, this will be like walking through a park. A thorny, sleep-depriving park granted, but easier nonetheless. He grins, feeling relief wash over him that he’s still on Gwen’s good side and that Morgana’s recovering and that everything is all right with the world—everything but one very important factor.

“You’re not the only person who’s almost done either,” Gwen continues. “I’ve been talking to Merlin, and apparently he only has the cover of your novel left to do. He’s finished all of the other side illustrations. His productivity has really gone up suddenly these past couple of weeks— I should do something nice for him.”

Merlin’s improved work ethic in past couple of weeks he’s been angry at Arthur can’t be a coincidence. The fact stings for a second—does Merlin want to be done with him as soon as possible?— but then the rest of Gwen’s words sink in, and a light bulb goes on in Arthur’s head. “Actually, Gwen, maybe I could do something nice for him. To let him know I appreciate what he’s done for me.” _And give myself a chance to at least apologize to him._

The line goes silent, and Arthur can tell Gwen’s speculating at the truth behind his words. She’s most likely thinking that Arthur’s just wooing Merlin, and while that is true in a sense, the situation is entirely different. Still, it would help to have her input.

“I think that would be very nice of you. We could all buy him a new set of pens; I know he’s been drooling after one of those for a while now.”

“Actually, I was thinking something more… personal, to be honest. Do you have any advice?” He can practically hear her smile.

“I know just the thing.”

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Arthur has only had the chance to arrive at the park and pick the right hill before a familiar voice startles him out of his concentration.

“Funny, here I thought Gwen said she was inviting me to a pleasant lunch at the park. She neglected to mention the company would be less than pleasant.”

Arthur whirls around, and Merlin’s looking right back at him. He seems slightly more tired than he was when he’d last seen him, and he’s grown a bit of stubble. Arthur realizes he’s staring, and he snaps himself out of it.

“Merlin! I—you’re earlier than I was expecting. I was—I mean I’m just setting up.”

He gets a sigh in response. “Is anyone else actually coming, Arthur?”

“No.”

For a second, Arthur’s worried that Merlin’s going to bolt on him, but instead, he walks over and takes the picnic blanket out of Arthur’s hands. Merlin lays the checkered blanket out in a sort of haphazard way, the edges crumpling and sitting unevenly. Arthur just sighs in relief and goes about straightening everything out. He tries not to notice Merlin staring at him out of the corner of his eye.

“So, a picnic.”

“You know, to celebrate you being almost done with the illustrations.”

“Interesting. I don’t believe this is the usual protocol when illustrations are almost finished,” he says, voice neutral.

“Yes well, you’re not just another illustrator.” He takes a few sandwiches out of the wooden basket he’d brought, feeling a little more self-conscious now, while Merlin watches all the proceedings with an unreadable expression. “Alright, what is it?”

“It’s just… You’re so _posh_.”

“What have I done to offend your plebian sensibilities now?” Arthur tries for a smile, but Merlin just stares coolly back at him.

“You’ve never been on a picnic before, have you? This is all so… movie-like—the checkered blanket, the wooden picnic basket.” At Arthur’s frown, he continues. “It just seems like you have no idea what you’re doing. This was Gwen’s idea, wasn’t it? You asked her.”

It’s not even a question. “Yes, okay, I told Gwen I needed her help.”

“And what was the original thing you were going to do?”

Damn. Arthur hesitates for a moment before replying, “Night at the bar.”

“The bar.” This time the tone of Merlin’s voice is more amused than anything else, and Arthur can’t bring himself to be annoyed. Anything but the cold detachment that Merlin’s been showing him is fantastic. “I suppose that does seem more in character for you. You’re terrible with handling any feelings, you know. You get this stupid look on your face, like you’re extremely out of your depth but trying not to show it. You may actually be the most emotionally stunted person I know.”

That causes Arthur to wince. He’d forgotten how cutting Merlin could when he wasn’t happy with you. “Obviously you haven’t spent a lot of time with Morgana.”

But Merlin just sighs and plops himself on the blanket heavily, ignoring Arthur’s indignant look. “What are you trying to do, Arthur?”

The question is blunt, and it takes him by surprise. It suddenly hits him, how much he misses Merlin’s usual rambling and somehow direct comments. Or more accurately, how much he just misses Merlin.

“What do you think? I’m sorry I was an asshole.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, Merlin, I know I was a little out of it between Morgana and Uther, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, not when I know you were just trying to help me.”

“But you can take it out on me when I’m not trying to help you?”

“Damn it, you know that’s not what I meant.” Arthur looks away and runs a hand through his hair, frustration suddenly rising. “I miss you, alright? I miss our lunch meetings and your ramblings and watching you sketch and your strange teas.” He sighs. “I even miss your terrible sense of fashion, for god’s sake. I just—You’re one of the best people I know, and a much better friend than I deserve. But if you would just listen to me and give me the chance, maybe I could change that.” He stops, suddenly tired and unsure. The burst of energy he’d just had is gone, and all he can do is wait for Merlin’s response.

For a split second, a look of sadness passes over Merlin’s face. Then he’s silent for a long while, and Arthur’s beginning to sweat when he finally says, “Still absolute crap at apologies, I see.”

“Only when it’s you.” It’s supposed to come out light-hearted, but it’s bitter with truth. There’s more silence, but when he looks up, there’s a small smile on Merlin’s face.

“Apparently the feeling is mutual. I overreacted too, Arthur. I don’t know why I was pushing at you so much. I guess we both got caught up in the moment.” He pauses. “And… if it makes a difference, I missed our meetings too.”

Arthur’s pretty sure he’s flushing, and they lapse into an awkward silence for a while, eating various foods with their fingers (because Arthur, in his rush, forgot to pack utensils, but neither of them really mind) and watching the sun set.

“So… you’re almost finished with your book, yeah?”

Arthur recognizes it for the olive branch it is and nearly sighs in relief. “Yes, Gwen says it’s just a few months now.”

“Good, you should be proud.” But Merlin catches Arthur’s grimace. “You _are_ proud, aren’t you?”

At some point, Merlin reaches for the basket to grab some more food and suddenly goes stiff. Arthur’s alert at once.

“What is it?”

Merlin pulls out a thin, golden box, and Arthur’s flushes. Merlin, of course, notices. “Something tells me this isn’t another sandwich.”

He opens the box hesitantly and Arthur watches as his eyes widen. Instead of pulling out the pens like Arthur thought he would, however, he holds up the other object in the box—a chain with a large, intricately carved pendant on the end of it. A bird in the center of a cross.

“This… This is important to you, isn’t it?” Merlin says, staring off in thought. “It almost looks… What is it?”

“It is—was—my mother’s. The dove was her symbol. She passed away when I was young, and it’s the only thing I have left of her, save a few pictures.” He pauses, steeling himself. “I want you to have it.”

“Arthur, you can’t just this to give me.”

He knew this was going to happen. “Just take it, Merlin. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather give it to.”

Merlin opens his mouth to say something, but then his expression changes, and he closes it. After a few seconds, he says, “Resorting to bribery to win back my favor, I see.”

Arthur can’t stop the laugh that tumbles out. “Not even if I thought it would ever work with you. Hmm, I suppose now’s not a good time to mention that we all chipped in and bought you new pens as well.”

Merlin’s answering laugh is bright and happy. Arthur steals a glance over at the man sitting next to him, and his breath leaves his lungs.

There’s something almost ethereally beautiful about Merlin—something etched in the way he moves, the unrestrained happiness of his smiles, the sharpness of his features. The more you get to know him, the more you see it, and Arthur must have been far too close to him for far too long because at this moment, he’s nearly blinded by it. There’s a strange sort of pull in his chest every time he looks over.

Then Merlin turns his head and notices his stare. They sit there for a few seconds, caught, and then Arthur looks away, feeling suddenly awkward.

“It’s getting late, we should probably start packing up.”

A sheepish look comes over Merlin’s face. “Yeah, I was actually supposed to meet Gaius ten minutes ago.”

“Go then. I can clean up fine on my own. See you Saturday, though?” He hopes the question doesn’t come off as too hopeful.

Merlin smiles. “See you Saturday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving on vacation for about a week and a half tomorrow (or technically, since it's past midnight now-- today), so I had to rush a little to post this chapter before I leave. So if this chapter was weird, sorry. It doesn't help that I'm just bleghh at writing emotional things.  
> The next chapter won't be posted for a bit since I can't write much on vacation, but thank you so, so much for reading this and following it if you have been :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if it needs to be said but just in case, WARNING: Spoilers for the last episodes of Merlin.

When it does finally happen, it’s rather anticlimactic.

"Hmm,” Gwen says thoughtfully. “Could you fix this sentence? I don’t think you meant to have Sir Gawaine say, ‘Fuck this. It’s 3 AM and I’m going to sleep.’”

Arthur groans, his head thumping onto the desk next to his computer. “Sorry Gwen, it’s been a long few months.” With Morgana officially in the slow process of adjusting to her dreams without Morgause’s bracelet and staying at his place, neither of them had been getting very much sleep. But Morgana’s condition was improving with each night, and that alone made it more than worth it.

               

(“I still have these horrible dreams though,” she says once, frowning in thought. “Just… be careful Arthur. For me.” Arthur watches her eyes widen as she realizes what she’d said. “I mean, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you while I’m staying in your apartment.”

“ You better be careful Morgs—your humanity is showing. I knew it was buried somewhere deep in there.” He pauses. “Deep, deep in there.”

“Oh piss off, Arthur.” But he can tell her heart’s not in it, and that’s more worrying than anything else.)

 

Gwen brings him back to the present. “Well, if it helps…” She looks off to the side of the Skype chat window, no doubt scrolling through Arthur’s chapters. “You’re done.”

Arthur bolts upright. “Done?! You’re kidding.”

“Not at all.” She gives him a blinding “Gwen smile”—sweet and lovely with no hint of the usual awkwardness hiding close behind.

“I wouldn’t joke about this. You’re really done. If you want, you can read it over one more time, and I’ll send it off to the publishers.”

He suddenly grins. “No, I think I’m more than ready to be done with this. I trust your judgment. Gwen, if you were here, I’d kiss you.” He considers what he’s said. “On the cheek, of course.”

“Don’t worry, Arthur. No harm done,” calls Lance from somewhere in the background, and Gwen blushes. Lance is over there almost constantly now, and Arthur wonders when they’re just going to move in together. Heaven knows they’d been madly in love with each other for long enough.

Thinking of Gwen and Lance makes him think of Merlin suddenly, and he knows he has to tell him right away.

“Anyway, thanks Gwen. You’re an angel, and I owe you something amazing. I have to go, but see you soon?”

“Of course.” She’s about to close the chat, and then her eyes widen. “Wait! Actually I’ll see you really soon because—”

But Arthur’s in a hurry and doesn’t catch her last words. “Great, bye!”

He dials Merlin’s number, and it only rings once before Merlin answers with a, “Are you done then?”

Arthur laughs. “Way to steal my thunder.” There’s a huff of air, and he imagines Merlin grinning unapologetically across the line.

“Gwen and I were just talking about it yesterday—you finishing, I mean—so it was on my mind. But congratulations, Arthur! This is huge, and you really deserve it.” His voice is warm and genuine and Arthur can’t help smiling at the sound of it. “We need to celebrate. I’ll take you somewhere after Morgause’s party.”

Arthur’s about to offer suggestions, but then all of Merlin’s words sink in.

“Morgause’s… party?”

“Gwen didn’t tell you?”

He vaguely remembers Gwen beginning to say something as he’d hung up. Oops.

“Erm, she tried, I think, but I wasn’t completely paying attention.”

Another huff of air. “That figures. Morgause is throwing a party in honor of the completion of several books recently, including yours. She invited a lot of the big wigs and some of the people involved in the creation of the books. You’re all allowed to bring plus ones if I remember correctly.”

Arthur struggles to find the words. To put it simply, he isn’t very fond of Morgause after her bracelet, magic or no, had affected Morgana so negatively. She seems… dangerous. There’s no other word for it. He can’t shake the feeling she has a special interest in him and Morgana. Every time she sees him at Gwen’s office, she asks about both of them. It’s unsettling.

“That’s… nice of her.”

“Mmm. According to Gwen, this is the first time she’s done something like this.”

And that certainly doesn’t help his suspicions, but he brushes the thought aside. “So I’ll see you there, then we’ll go out after?”

There’s an awkward silence on the other end of the line.

“I’m, err, not invited.”

“Not invited?! Merlin, you’re as much a part of this as anyone else. I’m sure we can talk to Morgause and—”

“It’s fine, Arthur. I’m an artist; I’m used to being overlooked,” he says, obviously trying for joking but turning up flat.

And then an idea occurs to Arthur. “You can be my plus one! Then you could go!” He says it quickly, too excited to think the sentence through. And then he realizes. “I mean, otherwise I’d take Leon and he hates these things anyway.”

Merlin’s response is hesitant. “You don’t have anyone else you want to take? Actually, never mind. If you’re sure…”

Arthur sighs. “Merlin, don’t be an idiot. Of course I’m sure.”

They make quick arrangements before Merlin has to go, and Arthur hangs up, a nervous sort of excitement humming through him. It feels as if something big is going to happen, something he’s been holding his breath for this past year, and for once, Arthur’s looking forward to it.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Are you ready yet?”

Arthur tries to tie his tie for the umpteenth time. His angry face stares back at him from the mirror. “I swear I’m usually very good at this—my fingers just appear to be useless today.” Merlin’s face appears suddenly next to his, smiling in a way that can only be called fond.

Merlin looks amazing in his suit—all long, clean lines thin wrists and bright blue eyes. He whirls Arthur around and starts tying the infernal thing, his thin fingers working quickly. “You’re hopeless. Tell me, Arthur, how did you even survive before you met me?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I was a complete disaster. I could barely walk let alone dress myself.”

“Mmm. It would explain why you bumped into that random man and spilled coffee all over yourself.” Arthur’s mouth fell open in an indignant expression.

“He was the one who bumped in-”

Merlin leans in so close that Arthur can feel his breath past his ear. “There. All set. Are we finally ready to go now?”

The air in the room is suddenly feeling much thinner. “Ah. Yes. Going, right.”

“Hey, don’t get nervous on me now.” Merlin pulls back and gives him a teasing grin. “It’s a party. In _your honor_. There are much worse things to suffer through.”

Arthur makes a face. “I just hope everything goes well.”

“It will. Now let’s go before you’re late for the whole thing.” But Merlin doesn’t turn away before Arthur notices his cheeks are strangely pink.

Morgause has apparently rented a palace for the party. There’s a large dome ceilinged ballroom with a few side corridors as well as a beautiful garden, which is for some reason off limits. Arthur catches himself thinking that it’s not quite as grand as other castles he’s been too—but that’s ridiculous, considering he’s never been to any castles in his life. They arrive at the party, embarrassingly enough, late. Merlin also trips over the top step, which doesn’t help them seem any less conspicuous.

“Sorry, sorry!” Merlin winces. “Two left feet.”

“Don’t worry, _Mer_ lin, I think only the entire party knows we’re here now.”

Merlin snorts. “Like they didn’t already know. This party is for five authors—it’s a little obvious when one of them is late.”

They mingle for a while as they don’t see Gwen, Lance, or Morgana (it’s a large crowd though, so it’s not terribly surprising), and Arthur gets to meet two of the other authors recently published by Avalon.

There’s Edwin Muir—an older blonde man in a Phantom-of-the-Opera style mask (apparently, he’d missed the memo that this wasn’t a masquerade) who’d written some story about a cure to heal many sicknesses or something similar to that at least. Arthur isn’t listening very intently. Edwin had taken a particular interest in Merlin and is practically leering at him. Merlin is oblivious, happily chatting back, so Arthur deftly steers him away before Edwin can do anything creepy. It’s for Merlin’s own good, obviously.

Next is Freya Mab. She’s a sweet, brown-haired girl with a shy smile. Her story is also Arthurian-based, instead focusing on the Lady of the Lake and her relationship with the wizard Merlin. The more she uses Merlin’s name to explain the plot, the more amusing Arthur finds it. Merlin just turns increasingly redder.

And somehow through the course of it all, Arthur finally finds himself standing alone with Merlin near the drinks table, the rest of the crowd somewhere to their left. Merlin apparently notices as well.

“Come on,” he says. “There’s an open spot on the balcony and I want to get a look at the stars.” Arthur barely has enough time to grab two glasses of champagne before he’s dragged bodily over to the farthest balcony, which is completely deserted.  

The night air isn’t too cold, and, true to Merlin’s word, the stars are out, creating a kind of peaceful atmosphere with the balcony just close enough to the main room that the light from it illuminates both their faces. Merlin looks… beautiful. The light only highlights the contrast between the paleness of his features and his dark hair. Arthur’s suddenly so glad Merlin’s here, not just for this, but for the warm, constant presence he’s been all night—laughing and flushing and teasing him.

“Hey,” Merlin suddenly says. “Don’t zone out on me now. You may act like an old man sometimes, but you aren’t actually one yet you know.”

Arthur makes a hurt expression in mock offense. “Just for that, I’m drinking all of this myself.” He raises the two glasses of champagne and makes as if he’s about to start drinking.

“Hang on, let’s not be hasty now. Have I ever told you how generous you are, Arthur? And kind?”

Arthur pretends to think for a few seconds. “I suppose that does sound familiar… No, wait, that was you calling me a prat.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “That’s because you _are_ a prat.” He snatches a glass out of Arthur’s hand anyway and takes a swig from it. “Can’t let you get too big of a head, can I?”

“Yes, heaven forbid anyone tells me something nice for once.” He’d says it in a light tone, meaning for it to be a joke, but Merlin gives him a startlingly serious look.

“You’re an amazing writer, Arthur. I can’t get over how real your characters feel. They practically draw themselves.” He pauses for a second. “And for all your clotpole-ishness, you can be pretty stupidly noble sometimes too. I know your book will be a great success because the person writing it is.”

Arthur is taken aback by the sudden change in conversation. “You’re a strange man, Merlin. Sometimes it almost seems like you think you know what you’re talking about.”

That provokes a laugh. “I do, you idiot. I mean absolutely everything I say.”

“So I’m a noble prat?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Merlin pauses for a moment, taking a sip of the champagne. “You _are_ proud, right Arthur? You deserve it, to say the least.”

He sighs contentedly and turns to look at Merlin, whose eyes are strangely blue. “To be honest, I’m happy.”

And he is. It isn’t a lie—he loves his friends, his father, and Morgana, for all the grief they sometimes cause him. He cares for them and they for him, even if they show it in strange ways. But that’s what they all do, isn’t it? This book has been a good experience, even if he’s loathe to admit it to Morgana, and he is glad he had had the opportunity to be published and meet so many amazing people. Most of all, he’s glad he’s met Merlin.

Maybe it’s the comfortable sort of happiness the completion of his book brings. It seems to seep into his bones, settling something deep inside of him—a place that he didn’t even know existed. Maybe it’s watching Gwen and Lancelot each wear the same, bright smile, only ever solely for each other. It could be a thousand things and perhaps it is a thousand things, all distilled into one absurdly perfect moment, crystallized when he catches Merlin’s gaze, and Merlin gives him a warm smile, something soft in his eyes.

And of course it’s Merlin—Merlin, who’s as passionate as he is fiercely loyal and constantly by Arthur’s side. He’s what cements it all, what brings everything into breathtaking clarity. He can almost feel the land hum around him, beating in time with his heart. The enormity of it all overwhelms him, and he feels like he’ll be swallowed whole by it if he doesn’t share it with the man beside him by leaning in and kissing him. 

Arthur barely notices the moment of startled silence before Merlin begins to kiss back. There’s an unspoken promise that seeps from the kiss- an immeasurable amount of hope and sadness, balanced in equal measure. They break apart, smiling, and Arthur thinks he could feel the ghost of a long held sigh run along the back of his neck. Something in him relaxes, and he can see it mirrored in the slump of Merlin’s shoulders.

Merlin has to be the first to break the silence.

“This isn’t a onetime only kind of thing, right?” His tone is meant to come off as light, but he’s staring at Arthur intently. “Because I don’t think I could do that.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and pulls Merlin to him. “No, you idiot.” And then, in a much softer tone, almost in wonder, “I love you.”

Merlin colors slightly but doesn’t drop his gaze, his smile softening.

“I love you too, Arthur.”

Arthur feels his face break out into a grin, and he brushes his thumb against Merlin’s cheek. “We’re going to get through this stupid celebration, and then I’m taking you home with me.” In a moment of heady exhilaration, he reaches down and entwines Merlin’s fingers in his. The look of surprise and embarrassed happiness on Merlin’s face is entirely worth it, and when they walk back into the main room, it’s hand in hand.

Of course it would be now that they finally manage to locate Gwen and Lance. He catches Gwen’s eyes widening slightly, but she recovers quickly and gives him a brilliant smile. She nudges Lance (who of course looks dashing in a suit) and whispers something that Arthur can’t quite hear. Morgana’s staring at him as well from across the room, a small, entirely too smug smile on her face, but in an instant the smile suddenly vanishes and she turns pale.

His stomach drops and he’s about to shout out to her, to ask what’s wrong, when someone taps him on his shoulder. He whirls around and is face to face with Morgause herself. She’s wearing her customary too-much-eye-shadow and a dark, knee-length (which is slightly shorter than most of the other women’s dresses tonight) red dress that wraps over her shoulder on one side.

“Arthur. Enjoying your celebration?” She eyes Merlin wearily, but Merlin just gazes back at her, a defiant look in his eyes.

“As it happens, I very much am.” He squeezes Merlin’s hand tighter for a second. “I understand that I have you to thank for this?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing—your book is quite… interesting.” She pauses for a second, almost in thought. “Although, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you? Alone?”

This is Arthur’s chance to confront her about Morgana. He glances at Merlin almost reflexively, and Merlin leans in under the guise of giving him a hug to whisper, “Go on, I’ll be waiting for you here.” He gives Arthur a quick kiss on the cheek and walks off towards Morgana’s direction.

 

Morgause leads him into the gardens—apparently it’s not off limits for the host—and under the trees through a small path he wouldn’t have noticed without her.

When she offers no explanation, he shouts, “Where are we going?” But she ignores him and keeps moving. A large part of Arthur’s mind is telling him that there’s something strange going on and maybe he should turn back, but he’s more than a little curious as to what she has to say to him that’s so important. Is she finally going to tell him what was in that bracelet that she’d given Morgana? Or at least anything resembling an explanation for any of this, something that could confirm Arthur’s suspicions? There’s too much to potentially gain from this, so against his common sense, he continues to follow her.

The path quickly ends at the edge of a clearing, a green field where the trees open up to reveal a large, completely calm lake.

Morgause turns and gives him a thin smile. “You must know why I brought you here now. I’m afraid we’re a little too far from the real thing, but this is as close as I could find on short notice.” She makes a wide gesture to the lake. “What do you think Arthur? There’s no place like home, is there?”

He looks around again to make sure he hasn’t missed anything, but no. “Last time I checked, I didn’t live in a lake.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Only for the last few thousand years, I suppose, but that’s semantics.”

For a second, something flickers in his mind—the feeling of grass underneath him and something warm touching his forehead—and then he shakes his head at Morgause’s words and it’s gone. “Few thousand—What are you saying? That’s impossible.” And then, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know. Tell me what you did to the bracelet you gave Morgana. Why are you so interested in us?”

That causes Morgause to suddenly look up at him sharply, as if she’s searching his face for something. “Morgana and I are much closer than you could ever hope to be, bonded by blood and the Old Religion. And we used to share a deep vendetta against the two who have wronged the both of us.”

Arthur snorts. “The only vendetta Morgana has is the one against her former hairdresser.” And then all of Morgause’s words sink in. _Old Religion. Bonded._ “You’re completely insane,” he says with a sudden pang of fear.

She gives him another piercing look. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t believe you do either.”

“Fascinating.” Morgause starts circling him, something unreadable in her eyes. “All this time, you’ve even been writing it, and you still don’t remember.” She stops in front of him and sighs. “It would have been nice to see some spark of recognition before... Ah well, it’s a pity.”

 _It’s a pity how crazy you are,_ he wants to say. “Before what?”

She smiles suddenly, but there’s no happiness behind it. He’s suddenly reminded of a large, predatory beast, certain of victory.

“Before this.”

She moves quickly, reaching under her dress and pulling out a dagger that’s been strapped to her thigh. He doesn’t even have time to blink before she twirls it around so the hilt is in her hand and lunges forward, running the blade through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M A TERRIBLE PERSON I’M SORRY.  
> I’m not a completely horrible person though, so if you were upset by this update, you can take comfort in two things:  
> 1\. I’ve already written most of the next chapter so I’d be able to post it a few days after this one. Expect the next chapter in 2-3 days.  
> 2\. (slight spoilers for this fic so skip this if you don’t want to know) You’ll note there are no warnings on this fic for Major Character Death.  
> As always, thank you so much for reading this and thank you so so much to anyone who's left comments! You guys keep me from despairing over my writing completely, and I can't express how amazing that is :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, major spoilers for the last episode of Merlin-- don't read if you haven't watched because it's really not worth it. 
> 
> This chapter was an emotional doozy to write, partially because I've been picturing and wanting to write it for so long :| Hopefully, I did it justice. Also again, thank you so much if you've been reading or following this at all. It means a lot more than you might think.

There’s a sickening squelching sound as Morgause pulls the knife out, and if it weren’t for that, Arthur would have thought she’d just punched him heavily in the gut. His stomach feels ache-y in a deep, _wrong_ sort of way, but he can hardly believe it when the hand he touches to in comes away stained dark red.

_I must be in shock,_ he realizes.

Then his legs give out beneath him and he falls to his knees, and the resulting jolt sends a sharp stab of pain shooting through his abdomen. He coughs out a breath, caught by surprise. _There we go._

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Morgause calmly wiping the blade off on the edge of her dress.

“Imagine my surprise,” she begins, almost conversationally. “When I found out that, after years of searching for you, you just show up on my doorstep, Morgana in tow. It took me three decades just to find Guinevere. _Three decades_ added to the thousands of years of waiting in Avalon after you killed me and my sister.”

Arthur’s only half listening, instead more focused on the steadily growing amount of blood he’s losing. He can’t even move without it feeling like he’s being stabbed all over again. There’s a clinical kind of detachment in his thoughts right now—the panic hasn’t set in. He knows they’re too far away for him to call for help, so he can only hope that Merlin’s noticed something and wait, breathing heavily, as dots start to dance before his eyes. There’s nothing else he can do. At Morgause’s next words though, his head snaps up.

“Merlin was a different matter, of course. He’s never been reincarnated, so I had to find him and wipe his memories. It was almost too easy. Thousands of years of peace made him slow— sloppy.” She says the last words with disgust.

“Stay away from Merlin.” He winces at the slight pain even that causes.

She laughs. “I’ve already hurt him more than I ever could with a knife.”

Those words somehow drive the reality of the situation home to him. Morgause has never even talked to Merlin as far as he knows. This grudge she has against them is baseless and mad and most of all, pointless. He’s bleeding to death because a madwoman believes he killed her thousands of years ago. Part of him wants to yell out how unfair it all is, to cry and carry on that his wasn’t supposed to happen to _him_.

“This is insane. I’ve never even met you before! Why are you doing this?” Morgause opens her mouth to answer, but then her eyes narrow suddenly as if she’s concentrating on something far away.

“It’s time to for me to leave, I think. Have a pleasant sleep, Arthur. Say good-bye to Merlin for me.”

And then she’s gone, and he collapses completely to the ground.

An indeterminable amount of time later (It could be a few moments or a few minutes, he doesn’t know. Everything’s a blur of hazy, dull pain and trying to focus on keeping his eyes open), the sounds of rustling leaves alert him.

“Arthur!”

It’s more of a strangled cry than anything else, filled with a panic and terror that makes Arthur’s gut wrench in a completely different way. He can’t turn his head, but he knows that voice—he knows it so well—and he hears the thudding of footsteps growing quickly closer to him.

“Merlin,” he manages.

In the next second he feels a warm presence by his side and a sudden pain in his midsection as his upper body is pulled up against a lap. Merlin’s thin, pale hands hover, shaking, over Arthur’s stomach, moving quickly back and forth but not pressing down.

“You’re shirt is— God, you’re bleeding so much, I can’t… What do I do to stop it?” The hands disappear, and Arthur watches as Merlin runs them through his hair, eyes wide in shock and something else unreadable.

“You can’t. Morgause, she—”

“I know. Morgana had… a vision while we were talking. She started screaming that it was too late. I came here as fast as I could.” He shudders for a second, looking down at the stained grass, and Arthur hears what goes unsaid.

_But it wasn’t fast enough._

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m too late. I can still call an ambulance or staunch the bleeding somehow, just let me—”

“Merlin.” It takes more effort than it should to grab Merlin’s hands. It must be dizziness from the blood loss, because all Arthur can think is that he’s dirtied Merlin’s hands now, smears of almost black red against the white. Spots dance behind his vision, and he knows he’s going to black out soon. He’s lost too much blood. “Don’t… don’t leave right now.”

Merlin’s face appears in view, and he brushes the hair back from Arthur’s forehead, touch still trembling.

“I need to get you help, Arthur.”

“You can’t,” Arthur says, gesturing weakly. “You know you can’t. Just… keep holding me, please.”

Arthur never really pictured himself dying. He knew it would happen, of course, because it has to, but he’d never had any grand visions of going out in a blaze of glory or even just peacefully, in a hospital bed. But dying like this, in the arms of someone that he loves—there are so many worse things that could have happened, and all he can think is that he’s glad it’s Merlin. His eyes start to shut.

“No, we’re not going to do this. Focus!” Merlin slaps Arthur lightly on the cheek. “Come on, we can get through this. I’ve never lied to you, have I? Just stay awake a little longer.”

But it’s getting really hard to focus on anything, and he’s losing any will to keep his eyes open. “You know me, Merlin. I never listen to you.” The words come out much more slurred than he would like.

Merlin’s smiling now, but his eyes are filled with tears. “Arthur…”

“Thank you for… everything. You’ve always been there, and I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“Damn straight you do, and you can start right now. Come on, Arthur, stay with me for a little longer. You can’t leave me now, not after we’ve finally...” He can hear the desperation creeping into Merlin’s voice. “Just a little longer, _please_.”

But it’s too late because Arthur closes his eyes, and everything goes black. Even though it’s too dark to see, the world won’t stop spinning, and Arthur can’t help but think, _so this is what it feels like._ At least Merlin will be alright, and that, at this point, is really all that matters.

The last thing he can hear is Merlin shouting his name, voice cracked and broken, and then there’s nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then the world rights itself, and Arthur can feel a burning sensation at the sudden brightness of light behind his eyelids. Images flash before his eyes in bursts of color and sound, some more vivid than others in unexpectedly painful or happy ways. The faces of his characters finally come to him, and he realizes, with a shock, that he recognizes all of them. It all plays before him, like a story book. He watches Uther turn bitter and cold, and Morgana slowly drift away from him. He sees attempts on his life and kingdom, all of which fall short to the brightness beside him. There’s Gwen and the knights and Morgause and a thousand other people, but most importantly, there’s Merlin.

Then it’s over before he knows what hit him and he’s left with the fading memory of lips on his forehead and the hushed plea of a familiar voice.

_Stay with me._

Out of all the memories he regains, the ones of Merlin are most important somehow—the ones that fit the most in his mind and make so much right. And everything clicks. Being awake suddenly becomes the most important thing in the whole world at this moment, and he snaps open his eyes.

The air is filled with strands of gold dust, winding and wrapping themselves in a wide circle, illuminating the night sky. Merlin is standing above him, his eyes a glowing gold, speaking in some sort of harsh-sounding language. The look of fury on his face is beyond anything Arthur could have imagined from the bright-eyed, smiling man he’d fallen in love with. This isn’t the Merlin he knows, and the thought scares him more than he cares to admit. _Merlin must have remembered as well,_ he thinks blearily.

He reaches down and pulls up his bloodstained shirt. A band of gold dust melts away from a large, thick scar in the place the stab wound had been. It’s as if it healed over a long period of time despite the fact that only a few moments had passed. Merlin.

Arthur makes an attempt to sit up, but he’s too weak. Voice hoarse, he yells, “Merlin! Merlin, I’m all right!”

Merlin doesn’t look down, but he responds in a deep, rough voice. “You saw it too, didn’t you? What happened? What was taken from us?” He snaps his fingers, and Morgause appears in front of them, wrapped in the strands of gold dust, a look of shock on her face. Arthur watches in horror as the strands tighten, and she explodes into ash.

“Merlin, no! What are you doing?!”

But Merlin won’t even so much as look at him. “It’s her fault that I had to watch you die in my arms for a second time. She didn’t even give us the chance to live. But now…” The golden threads expand, painting the sky in wide arcs. “I can remake everything so it’s as it should be.” He can hear traces of awe in Merlin’s voice, but everything else is unreadable.

Around him, the gold twists and bends, forming a hazy image of a castle—Camelot. A tree suddenly bursts into full bloom and the others follow suit. Anywhere the gold touches suddenly becomes more vivid, more alive and beautiful. It even touches Arthur, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and light and calm, and for a second, he allows himself to relax.

But Merlin looks tired and haggard, barely standing with the force of his magic, and it’s enough to break Arthur out of his reverie.

“No. You can’t do this, it’ll consume you.”

"Don’t you understand, Arthur? I can paint us a perfect world, and everyone we love will be happy. I finally have the power to do it. No one can hurt us. We’ll… we’ll have the life we deserve.” The tone in Merlin’s voice is almost pleading with its desperateness, and Arthur feels his gut wrench as he gazes up at Merlin, his vision blurring with tears. “And,” Merlin’s voice cracks, “I’ll never have to watch you die again. I’m sick of destiny, Arthur—of unknown forces playing around with our lives. I can’t do this anymore. I’m just so _tired._ ”

There’s a look in Merlin’s eyes—like he’s old beyond belief and full of a well-worn, dull pain. It hurts, to see Merlin like this, and Arthur wonders how long it’s been since Camelot. Since Arthur died all those years ago.

Gaining strength, Arthur stands up and hugs Merlin from the back. “You know it’s wrong. It could never work out. The magic can’t do everything, and you’ll be lost to it.”

Merlin turns to face him, and there are tears streaking down his face, clearing a path through the ash.

Arthur knows he’s getting to him, and he reaches out and pulls Merlin into his arms. “Just let it go, we have time now. We can fix this on our own.”

Merlin heaves a shuddering sob, and the golden dust suddenly falls to the ground all around them, turning grey and lifeless. “I’m sorry Arthur. Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

He holds Merlin, feeling the sobs through his arms. They stand there— Arthur shaking, running a hand through Merlin’s hair and mumbling promises he knows he can’t keep-- while they both wait for some piece of their lives to return to normal.


	14. Chapter 14

They manage to cover up Arthur’s bloodstained shirt and stumble back through the party to call a cab. Gwen and Lance give them a questioning look, but Morgana just meets Arthur’s eyes and looks relieved.

“Call me tomorrow,” is all she says before ushering them out before anyone else can notice. And between Merlin looking deathly pale and Arthur being stiff and muddy—bloodstains still obvious to anyone looking carefully—it’s probably the wise thing to do.

The rest of the trip passes in a blur until Arthur finds himself propped up against his apartment door, trying to force his fumbling fingers to open it. Eventually, Merlin just takes over, and they practically collapse through the doorway onto Arthur’s couch.

“You should have just used your magic. Would’ve been quicker,” Arthur says, trying for some levity.

But Merlin doesn’t even look at him. “I think I used it all back there, bringing you back to life and everything else. I doubt I even have enough left to create a spark.”

Some part of Arthur is twistedly relieved, hoping that this means something good for them—something normal. But he’s disgusted as soon as he realizes what he’s thinking. Magic has always been a part of Merlin, and to lose it, even temporarily… But Merlin doesn’t look devastated. He just looks exhausted, like there’s something in his eyes not quite lit. And that’s worse, somehow.

“Well, this is still possibly the only time you’ll ever be more coordinated than me.” To Arthur’s dismay, Merlin doesn’t reply. “I’m going to go take a shower. Do you want to…” He can’t even bring himself to say it. Merlin just shakes his head and curls into himself on the couch.

So Arthur dismisses all thoughts of being clean, and settles himself at Merlin’s side.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Merlin shakes his head.

Arthur’s never been very good with these things, but Merlin looks so tired. “Look, I know I’m not very knowledgeable about magic, but you know you can talk to me anyway.”

_That_ gets Merlin to look up. “It’s not the magic, Arthur. I’ve lived ten years without it, and I’ve gotten used to that.”

“Then what is it?”

Merlin sighs. “Everything that’s happened. Remembering. Watching you die again. And I’m just… I’m not _him_ anymore, Arthur, whoever he was. Whatever Morgause did to make me forget who I was, it was a blessing in disguise.” He looks at the ground, unwilling to meet Arthur’s eyes. “I’ve missed you so much, but the ten years I didn’t remember were the best years I’ve had in a long while. I found Gaius and Lance. I got a degree in art for fuck’s sake. You’ve been gone for so long…” His voice chokes, and Arthur holds him tighter instinctively.

“It’s fine, Merlin. I’m back now. Morgause is gone.”

“You mean I killed her.”

“You had to. You can’t blame-”

“Don’t. I killed her. I don’t regret doing it, not with you here and alive.” He puts a hand to Arthur’s chest tentatively, feeling the slow rise and fall. “I wouldn’t change a thing, but I still killed a woman. You can’t just erase that. Maybe the old Merlin didn’t have any issues with trading life and death, but I do.” He looks up at Arthur suddenly, desperation and panic in his eyes. “Who am I, Arthur? If I’m not him and I’m not Merlin Rhys?”

_You’re mine,_ Arthur wants to say. Merlin looks so sad, so _old_ at this moment that it’s all Arthur can do to keep from wrapping him in blankets and hiding him from the world. He wishes he could erase the creases on Merlin’s forehead and the weariness in his eyes, and if he could somehow, by force of will turn back the thousands of years he’s been gone, he would. But all he can do is kiss him on the forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he hopes Merlin will understand. “I’m sorry you were here, and I wasn’t. I can’t change it, but I can ensure it will never happen again.” And he looks up, waiting until Merlin meets his eyes to continue—bright blue and strangely piercing. “I don’t care who you are, Merlin, and I don’t care what you’ve done. Maybe I should, but I can’t. You’re… you’re you and always have been, and whoever that is, I love you. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

There’s a long silence. Just when Arthur’s starting to worry, Merlin looks up at him, his eyes watery but smiling. “You always were good with words when you needed to be, you prat.” He pauses. “I _am_ glad we’re here, Arthur.”

He knows what Merlin’s trying to say. With everything they’ve been through, all of the pain and loneliness and heartbreak, all Arthur can focus on is the small details of this moment—the soft sound of their breathing, Merlin sitting rumpled on the couch, Arthur’s hand barely touching Merlin’s.

“I am too.” He leans in and kisses Merlin’s forehead. “Come on, let’s go to bed. We can deal with everything else in the morning.”

 

Of course life goes on. Lance and Gwen get married. The Round Table expands to the building next to it, and in the process picks up a few new hires including Leon, who’d only visited originally as a joke but had grown to love the place. Arthur’s book becomes extremely popular to the surprise of no one except Arthur, and he travels the country with Merlin giving talks and writing his next novel. Merlin becomes Arthur’s official illustrator. Morgana continues to live with her dreams, but in more control of them. Morgause slowly becomes a bad memory.

 

And it all had finally, finally started like this.

It’s the morning after Arthur had been stabbed, and he lifts his head, mentally resigning himself to leaving the comfort of his bed, and more importantly, Merlin, who’d slept like a rock.

The sunlight streams in from the open window, falling on Merlin’s slowly waking figure—all messy dark hair and long eyelashes and pale limbs tangled up in the sheets. It feels so… peaceful. Maybe more so than it has been in centuries. Arthur suddenly feels like he’s going to burst with some nameless, bright feeling and he leans over to brush Merlin’s hair back from his forehead, when Merlin murmurs something.

“I love you.”

The words barely reach Arthur’s ears. It’s a mumble, a slur of words meant to be lost in the crumpled sheets or the crook of his neck. But even half-asleep and tired as he is, he catches the end of it.

“What?” He says, propping himself up suddenly. Merlin opens his eyes fully and stares up at him. And yet, there’s Merlin. Sitting there with his hair ruffled this way and that, and his blue eyes slightly wider than usual, giving him a look so full of nervousness and hope that it makes Arthur’s heart stutter for a second.

Before he can react, Merlin leans up and kisses him, a light peck on the lips. When he pulls back, he’s looking up at Arthur with a happy, unrestrained smile.

“Don’t make me say it again,” he says, and Arthur finds himself smiling helplessly back. There’s something there that neither one of them acknowledges, but they know it anyway.

_We’ll be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First because I feel obligated to, I'm really sorry for posting this so late. School started and life was a little hectic. I'm also not sure how much my writing changed in that time? So if this was overly sappy for you, sorry. I wanted to give some sort of closure to the series itself, and I'm not sure I accomplished that, but I tried. 
> 
> BUT the main thing I want to say is thank you so, so much for reading this and following it, if you have been. This was my first attempt at a Merlin fic more than 100 words, so it means a lot that anyone's been reading and maybe enjoying it. Just aghhh, it probably doesn't seem like that big of a deal that you read this, but it is to me. I owe you all really wonderful things :)


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